


can't be what you need if he's seventeen

by preshire



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, First Time, Grinding, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Pet Names, Slut Shaming, Underage Sex, boys with ambiguous reproductive systems, completely unnecessary elounor, gratuitous mentions of eleanor and louis, slight feminization?, teen dad harry styles, underaged pregnancy and all the nasty judgement that comes with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preshire/pseuds/preshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry is 17 and nick is 21. nick moves away, but not before giving harry a going away present. </p><p>au where harry niall louis zayn and liam all grew up in holmes chapel, and nick just sort of turned up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't be what you need if he's seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it’s ya girl, back to post her what is starting to become her annual summer mpreg fic. Except this time I nearly doubled the wordcount, and there’s less actual mpreg and Harry just suddenly has a baby. This was specifically designed for those who get a bit squeamish by it, and wanted to go straight to the kidfic.
> 
> A lot of the stuff is based directly off of things that my two year old cousin, Arianna has done (i.e., “GUITAR! MUSIC!”), so if it seems that I adore the shit out of this fictional child, it’s because I adore the shit out of his inspiration. 
> 
> This story took months to write and I’d like to give a HUGE shoutout to Lizzie, who was there to push me along and talk me out of scrapping the whole thing when I got emo about no one liking mpreg. I love u Lizzie. This ones for you.
> 
> Also, not quite realistic in terms of like... jobs and stuff. Let me live.

**Pt. 1 - when things are good**

Nick spreads Harry's legs open, hands resting on the backs of his thighs. Harry's keening, head spinning slightly with how much he wants it. Wants it, needs it, has to have it, now now now.

"Hold on," Nick murmurs, breathing heavily, which leads Harry to believe that he might have said those words out loud. Oh well. He doesn't care.

There's a layer of sweat on the back of his neck, and he can see his bare chest heaving up and down. Somewhere, on the other side of town, Harry's mom and dad are just sitting down to eat an overpriced dinner while their son is losing his virginity to an older man. Thinking about it like that somehow only makes him want it more, wants to get fucked by Nick in here, then again on the couch in the living rooms, then across the kitchen table, then on his parent's bed. Ambitious, seeing as they only have another hour alone at tops.

Harry's train of thought is interrupted as the feeling of one of Nick's long, bony fingers pressing at his entrance. It's slicked up, the lube dripping a bit onto the sheets below them. Messy.

"Just, relax babe," Nick coos, gently enough that Harry suspects he knows that it's his first time. "Gotta relax."

Harry huffs. "Yours aren't the only fingers that have been up there, you know." He makes a conscious effort to not mention that the only other fingers have been his own.

The 21 year old smirks, but he doesn't say anything. He presses the finger in deeper, hole swallowing it up, just as eager as Harry. Harry's used to being quiet when fingering himself, as to not rouse his parents suspicions, but he lets out a small moan experimentally as Nick starts to pull out so he can try and insert another finger with the first. The moan sounds loud in the room, the kind of porn star moan he never envisioned himself replicating.

Nick's biting his bottom lip above him, and he palms himself through his boxers. Harry watches him through half lidded eyes, arms strewn back behind his head. Nick meets his eyes, slipping his second finger inside. "Do that again."

Harry feels smug and powerful. He loves the feeling of Nick exerting control over him, loves the thought of Nick fucking him with his ankles practically above his head, but it doesn't mean he wants to be completely useless. Wants to get fucked, not degraded.

"Oh Grimmy," Harry murmurs, speaking from his throat so it comes out as a growl. He wracks his brain, tries to imagine what an Experienced Sexual Participant would say at a time like this. “Want you inside me so bad, come on daddy."

Nick pauses from slowly pushing his fingers in. "Daddy?" His eyes look skeptical, as he tastes the word in his mouth.

"Daddy." Harry confirms, wiggling his hips a shake, reminding Nick of what he should be doing. If Nick could call him Princess, he could call him daddy.

Nick still looks apprehensive, but nods, accepting whatever Harry’s giving him. "Daddy. Okay." He resumes, pressing the rest of his two fingers in with a decisive slide. The lube they're using (supposed to be cherry flavoured, but it's not, Harry's tried it) is making a ridiculous mess of things, Nick using too much and spilling it all over Harry's blue pinstriped sheets. He can feel it trickling a bit from his bottom, warm liquid managing to drop down his crack and down his arched spine. He wants to reach down and wipe it off, but he doesn't want to disturb Nick's process. Plus the fingers scissoring him open are starting to make him ache a bit, the sharp pain of the stretch making his dick a bit softer and his limbs feel immobile.

"You okay?" Nick asks after a moment of silence, just Harry's heavy breathing sounding in the air. Nick seems really concerned about Harry's wellbeing, like he really doesn't want to hurt the boy. He's started to slowly pump his two fingers in and out, finger fucking him as gently as he could.

Harry just nods quickly, teeth biting the inside of his lip as he wills himself to relax. He's still nervous about this, no matter how tough he talks. He's fucked himself with his fingers plenty of times, even gotten Gemma to buy himself a small dildo from a sex shop (an experience that had been absolutely mortifying, no matter how sex positive and accepting his sister was). He's no stranger to things being put up his bum, but still. This was the first human person he's let put something up his bum, and from the shape of the bulge pressing through Nick's trousers and Harry's previous encounters with it, it would be a great deal bigger than his little pink dildo.

Nick leans down, pressing reassuring kisses to his inner thighs, the hand not currently occupied running up and down Harry's left leg, thumb pressing into the soft spot beside his knee. The small touches are comforting, Harry focuses more on Nick's tongue, kitten licking his thighs every other kiss, than the third finger Nick's now pushing in. "Daddy," Harry mewls, almost inaudibly, and his toes curl involuntarily.

Nick makes a noise, reverberating deep in the back of his throat. "Wanna fuck you," he growls, "wanna fuck you so bad."

"Fuck me, then." Harry replies, trying to sound a lot braver than he is. Nick's fingers hurt, and he knows that his dick will hurt a lot more, but the overwhelming urge to be filled is making him babble and whine. "C'mon, daddy please."

Nick groans, but keeps going with his three fingers instead of pulling out like Harry wants. The look in his eyes look conflicted, torn between wanting to make sure Harry isn't hurt, and wanting to fuck him senseless.

Harry feels stretched now, the pain fading a bit as he adjusts to Nick fucking him with three fingers. He moves his hands to his sides, one taking a firm grasp of his cock, jerking it in sync with Nick's pace. He hardened in his hands, and with Nick's fingers in him and his hands on his dick, the only sensation he could feel was dizzying pleasure.

"Fingers are so long," he breathes out, lifting his hips off the bed to meet Nick. "Feels so good."

Nick waits a minute, still fucking him with his fingers. "Good," he finally says, after a moment of deliberation, and he pulls his fingers out. Harry, startled at the sudden loss, lets out a soft cry, neck craning off his pillow to look at what Nick's doing. His hand is still on his cock. "What are you--- oh."

Nick has stood up quickly, sliding off the bed and out of his jeans. They pool around his ankles, and he steps out of them as he pulls off his shirt, then his boxers. Harry stretches out his legs feeling the muscles relax as he eyes the man before him, cock standing up at attention. He’s seen it before, of course, and it's much bigger than his, much bigger than his dildo, too. Harry wants to wrap his mouth around it, but he can feel his hole clench around nothing, and he knows where he'd rather Nick put it.

Nick fishes a condom out of his bag near the door, ripping it open with quick, steady hands, eyes still on Harry.

"Wait," Harry complains as he watches Nick toss the wrapper in a corner as he puts on the condom. "You don't need, I mean, I wanted to feel..."

The older man smiles wryly, corner of his mouth rising up further than the other. "How am I supposed to know if you've been letting boys fuck you without a condom, Princess?"

"Haven't," he says, sighing a bit to express his dismay, but knowing full well that it wasn't going to change Nick's mind.

Harry closes his eyes. He can feel Nick shifting below him, can hear him noisily adjusting. Harry's nervous, his heart starting to drum quite heavily in his chest, his mind going into overdrive. How much would this hurt? What would happen if it hurt too much? What if he somehow fucked this up, what if Nick was disappointed with him? He'd thought about this loads, and watched enough porn that he had a really good theoretical grasp of what was supposed to happen. He'd stick it in, go for awhile, then they'd be done. Just like that. Cherry popped.

His eyes are still closed, but Harry can feel Nick dripping more lube directly onto his bottom. "Think you've used enough?" Harry jokes, but he sounds too nervous for it to be at all funny.

Nick snorts, nonetheless, and gives a soft smack to Harry's inner thigh. "Yeah, yeah. Just want to make sure you're comfortable." He pauses. "Just, tell me if you want to stop. Or slow down. Or anything. Being honest is important right now. Okay?"

Harry bites his lip, eyes still clenched shut. He feels brutally open all of a sudden, naked with a man in between his spread legs. He almost wants to shy away from the attention, to glue his knees together and hide under the blankets. He just nods, instead.

Nick takes a breath. "Okay." He starts moving again, mattress creaking slightly under him. One of Nick's hands is on Harry's bum, pushing his cheek open, the other presumably on his own cock.

Harry's head starts spinning as he feels something that is definitely not a finger, and definitely not a dildo pressing at his rim. He tenses up, a knee jerk reaction, before mentally reminding himself that that's counter productive to what he wants to do here. He relaxes himself, and Nick uses it as an opportunity to start to push himself inside of him.

He's just had three of Nick's fingers inside of him, but it still burns. It's overwhelming, the feeling of having another human's cock in him, and Harry's eyes spring open. He had gasped at the initial push, and his breath is still coming in in tiny puffs of air. He looks at Nick with wide, startled eyes, hands moving from his dick, to behind his head, to scrambling to find somewhere to grip on Nick. Nick's looking back up at him, watching warily enough that make Harry feel like a scared rabbit. "You okay, Princess?"

Harry nods, head bobbing quickly. "Yeah, I'm," his hands rest on Nick's shoulders, fingers pressing into the bone. "I'm good. Keep going."

Nick swallows, squaring his jaw. He looks back down at where he's not even halfway inside of Harry; just the tip poking in. He moves, the slow slide of his lubed cock in his quivering body make Harry a bit crazy. The process is slow, Nick making absolute sure that Harry is okay for every second of it, and a few laborious minutes go by until he's sheathed fully inside.

Nick is leaning on top of Harry, body draped over the younger boy. He panted, his own legs shaking and his stomach squeezing Harry's dick in between them. "Y'alright?" He asks, voice sounding strained.

Harry breathes, sucking air in through his nose, and out through his mouth. It still hurt a bit, and the sensation of it all was something he had never been able to properly imagine, and he was okay. "Yeah," he wiggled his hips, just a tiny bit, then carefully lifts his legs to wrap them around Nick. His ankles cross behind Nick's bum. "Move now."

Nick nods, and he starts to pull out, his mouth making a small 'o' as he does. Nick's big, big enough that when he's pulled halfway out there's still quite a bit of cock in Harry. He pushes back in, the drag of his dick making Harry's back arch.

He repeats, pulling halfway out then pushing back in, picking up speed as he goes. The residual pain is fading, the burn still present a little but it feels more and more like pleasure. Nick shifts his body a bit, falling from holding himself up by his hands to his elbows, and the change in angle ghosts against Harry's prostate, not quite hitting it but close enough to pull Harry's attention.

"Nick," Harry says urgently, because this is serious. Very serious. "You've almost, you've almost got it." He’s had things up there enough that he knows where his prostate is. His hands run up his shoulders, and end up holding onto the sides of Nick's hair. So serious.

"Okay, fuck, stop pulling on my hair." Nick moves further down Harry's body, head now resting on his chest. The change plunges Nick further inside of Harry, but not in the direction he wants him to go. "Here?"

"No, you were closer before." Harry says through his teeth, trying to tug Nick back up his body. Nick's lost his pace, and it feels like a sudden slap of reality, because it's not Magic. They're just two guys, in a small bedroom in a small town in England with their cocks out, all sweaty. Harry loves it.

Nick huffs out a breath, twisting his hips. "Sorry, Princess. Better?"

"A bit," Harry bites the inside of his cheeks. "Maybe a bit further up, just go--" Nick hitches one leg up, his cock angled in just the way that when he slides a bit further in, it happens. He finds it. Harry's toes curl, his mouth falls open. “Yes!”

Nick grins, pulling out and then pushing back in a bit harder than before. He picks up speed, encouraged by the steady stream of, "daddy right there," and "daddy please," that come babbling out of Harry's mouth. It's just so good, and Harry can't even think anymore, can't understand the nonsense that's coming out of his mouth, couldn't formulate a proper sentence if he tried. Harry had his legs wrapped behind his back, but he's lost the feeling in everything except his prostate getting hit. Nick is fucking into him, faster and faster, and Harry wants to cry, and he thinks he is a little bit. Tears are sprouting from his eyes, and it's so good, it's all he can think of. He moves his hands to clasp around Nick, fingers clawing down his back, and he hopes he leaves marks.

"You're nasty," Nick hisses, bringing Harry back to consciousness with a start. Nick's a bit red in the face, and he's looking down at Harry with a tiny curled smirk. Harry doesn't remember what he said, but Nick darts down, mouthing at Harry's neck, licking and nipping at his pulse point. Must have said something really wild.

Nick absolutely pounds into Harry, the sound of skin smacking skin loud even through Harry's endless tirade of dirty talk and moaning. Harry's cock is still rubbing in between their stomachs, and with every thrust, the movement jerks him off. Harry's hands pull at Nick's back, desperately trying to pull him closer to him as he feels a familiar sensation building up in his cock. "Nick, I'm so close," Harry whimpers, fat tears leaking from his eyes, making his face splotchy and eyes red. "Daddy, gonna come."

"Come for me, Princess," Nick grunts, slamming into Harry's body with particular force that he'd been saving for last. He was close as well.

"Daddy, so close, please, daddy," Nick, who was still on his elbows, reaches up and pinches Harry's nipple with a quick twist. Harry cries out, sensation pushing him over the edge and he comes hard in between their stomachs. Harry's eyes flash white, and his entire body tenses and clenches as he spills.

Nick doesn't let up for a minute. His thrusts have become erratic and rushed as Harry's hole tightens around him, fucking him with less finesse, and more like a frantically humping animal. Harry slowly starts to come down from his orgasm, his cock flaccid and his hole starting to burn as Nick fucks his way to coming. "Daddy," he starts to say, but as soon as the words leave his lips, Nick lets out a strangled cry, and comes. Harry waits, Nick pushing in slowly once more, then twice, eyes closed tight. He looks so beautiful, Harry thinks, mouth slack in wordless pleasure, eyelashes fluttering, and hair matted with sweat. Harry lurches up, pulling Nick's mouth down to him, biting at his open mouth, licking deeply, Nick's lips responding weakly in a post-orgasm daze.

Nick pulls away first, pressing a second, more chaste kiss onto Harry's cherry bitten lips, then leaning back so he can pull out of Harry's body. They both wince slightly from the over sensitivity of the movement, but it's forgotten once Nick has removed the condom, tied it off and dropped it in the bin, and fell back down on the bed beside him.

Nick sighs. "That was amazing, Princess."

Harry twists his body, stretching out experimentally, to see if, and how much he hurts. It feels sore, but he had expected that. He couldn’t tell at this point if he’d definitely be limping tomorrow, but he privately hoped that he would be, so everyone would know what he’d been up to. He already knew that he’d be texting Louis and Niall the second that Nick left. He just hoped that he could power through it whenever his parents are around.

“Thanks,” Harry replied after a moment, nearly forgetting that Nick had even spoken. He rolled into Nick, fitting perfectly in the space under his shoulder after he muscles Nick’s arm out of the way. “Was alright for me too.”

Nick scoffed. “Please. I rocked your world, Styles.” Nick tilts his head to look down at Harry’s face. He lifts a hand, and prods a finger right under Harry’s eye, where the remnants of his tears are still drying. “I made you cry, I was so good. Really flattered. Nice ego boost, if nothing else. Felt a bit off my game with the whole ‘daddy’ thing. Didn’t know that was your thing.”

“Shut up, it was heat of the moment. And I was crying because you were awful. Terrible, 3/10, don’t think I’ll be letting you do that again anytime soon.”

Nick is grinning now, but he turns his head away to look at the ceiling. “You wound me. I’ll be waiting by my phone for an apology. I’m in your contacts under ‘I’ve Got a Daddy Kink’.”

Harry grins back, punching at Nick’s arm. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”

//

Harry calls back the next day. He’d also been texting Nick continuously, sneaking his mobile out during lessons, ignoring Louis’ smirks and Zayn rolling his eyes.

He was so enthralled by Nick, he just couldn’t help it. He said the most deliciously unexpected things, little quips and witticisms that nearly always startled a smile out of him. Louis thought that he was being absolutely ridiculous, acting as if he wasn't absolutely ridiculous himself for his girlfriend, as if he wouldn’t promptly leap off the London Eye if Eleanor told him that she wanted him to.

Harry begs Nick to come and pick him up after school that day, and when Nick shows up in his beat up old Mercedes, Harry wants to fall face first on his cock, which he does once Nick parks a suitable distance away from school. Nick tries to look inconspicuous, resting his head on a balled fist and leaning against his door, looking out the windows in case someone walks by their car. He comments that they maybe should find someplace where children won’t accidentally wander by and get scarred for life. Harry manages to snort, face nestled in Nick’s pubic hair, Nick’s left hand playing with the curls on the back of his neck.

They fuck quite regularly from then on. Nick’s got his own place, but he’s also got three roommates who stick their nose up at Harry for still being a student, so they tend to stay away from there to keep him comfortable. Nick works nights at the local radio station, a shitty little thing that no one listens to, and no one is ever working at, for some reason. Nick’s alone most nights, talking to the airwaves between songs, and he sneaks Harry in a few times, Harry telling his parents that he’s spending the night at Niall’s, or Louis’. And Harry and Nick have gotten quite reckless with their fucking; Harry would blush if he was ever asked to recount how many different places he’s bent over counters, and couches, spread flat on his back in empty fields. He’s even rid Nick on his desk chair at the radio, Nick queuing up a ridiculous amount of songs because it’s not like he had listeners. Holmes Chapel was small, but it had lots of places to have sex, and Harry and Nick planned to take advantage of every single one of them. 

Harry's mum and step-dad weren't home a lot of the time, preferring to leave Harry under Gemma's relaxed supervision, despite Harry whining about how at 17 he hardly needed a babysitter anymore. Gemma knew about Nick, and probably knew how much they were doing it, but she seemed to take vindictive pleasure in seeing how much she could hint at Harry having a secret boyfriend without explicitly spelling it out for them. After one night when Gemma alludes to Harry getting his holes filled, Anne pulls him aside when they're cleaning the kitchen and asks with an expression that's meant to be reassuring if there's anything that Harry wants to tell her. 

Harry shakes his head, slightly horrified. He remembered when he came out to them all, and he remembers going on their family desktop computer after she's used it one night and seeing several bookmarks on gay sex, and how to teach your child about anal. He was flattered she was trying to be a good and accepting mum, mortified that she was thinking about him bumming people, full stop. 

On another night, Harry steels himself up for criticism and spends the night at Nick's. It's a weekend, so Nick doesn't have to work, but neither do any of his roommates. Harry spends an hour quietly cooking them all a big dinner, Nick sat on the counter "supervising", chatting loudly and about silly things to drown out the occasional whispers of Henry and Gillian, eyeing Harry pretentiously every time they walk by the kitchen.

By the time dinner is ready (he's made them all chicken breast with a side of mash and sweet corn) and they've all sat down to eat, Harry notices happily that they're giving him less side eyes than before. Aimee chats to him politely, Nick probably threatening her beforehand to be nice, but Harry will take forced niceties if it means not having her glare at him like she first did when they met. 

Nick tells him it's not that they don't like him, exactly. They just don't like that he's so young, and they don't like that Nick is getting so attached to him only weeks before they're all planing to pack up and move to London together. Thinks that getting involved with Harry will make Nick not want to go. 

Harry is very aware of their plans to go, and he has no intention of letting Nick stay in Holmes Chapel just for him. If Nick offered to stay, Harry would insist that he leave. The older man had some job lined up in the city, not quite in radio, but in media nonetheless. He knew that as long as Nick stayed in town, he would never really go anywhere. End up getting a job at Primark, resentful that his friends had all left him behind and he was stuck with Harry. 

No, Nick was leaving soon, and Harry would still be in secondary, and it would all be good. Maybe they could meet up again when Harry graduated, and when Nick established himself in media. It'd be nice. Harry was already looking forward to their reunion. Maybe Harry would be able to grow a beard by then. Or at least a moustache. 

Their dinner goes nicely, even Henry eventually warming to him. Hard to be spiteful with a full stomach, a fact that Harry would fully intend to exploit in future. He'd bring them cupcakes, maybe, from the bakery that Harry worked at, drop them off when he was sure that Nick was home so he wouldn't be in danger of getting the three of them suddenly turning on him as soon as Nick was absent. He'd bring a whole array of cupcakes-- everyone loves cupcakes--, and he'd win them over, with both his generosity and his gentle wit. He'd tell a joke, they would laugh. Gillian would pat him on the back, and Aimee would give them her blessing. Nick would promptly get down on one knee and pop the big question, right there in front of their friends, still covered in cupcake crumbs, and ask Harry to marry him. They'd get married in June, on a day that's not too hot, not too windy. Anne and Robin would be totally cool with it. Harry would cry. Nick would cry. Then they'd kiss and be joined in union, and go off to their honeymoon on some island somewhere, and fuck for a week straight. Buy a house. Have kids. Raise kids. Instil positive values in kids. Kiss Nick a lot. Live happily ever after. 

Harry shakes his head, starting from his daydream. He's sat at the dining room table still, plates already cleared. Nick and Aimee are deep in conversation, and he can hear the sound of someone doing the dishes. Harry blinks. Nick looks up at him, smiles. Harry's heart melts, smiles back. A bit later, Nick takes Harry to his room, and he fucks him, hot and languid, Nick clamping a hand over Harry's mouth to keep him quiet, and because Harry likes being restrained. Quite wants Nick to tie him up, maybe. It's a thought for another day, should probably discuss it first. 

Nick's starting to take up all of his time outside of school and his part-time job. Even when he's not with Nick, he's thinking about him, thinking about texting him. They're all crowded on the steps outside for lunch one day in November, bright and sunny weather for so late in the year. Louis' going on about something, football probably, the rest of the group making the appropriate ooh's and aah's that Louis' stories require. The blue eyed boy, arm wrapped around the shoulder of his girlfriend talks, but every couple moments will glance surreptitiously at Harry, hunched over his phone. Louis and Harry have been friends practically since birth; born and raised in houses just across the street from each other. Louis had been Harry's first friend, first best friend, and first crush. When Harry told him, Louis was kind in a way that he almost didn't expect in the loud and tumultuous athlete. Told him a gentle thanks, but no thanks, and had backed off to give Harry some time to lick his wounds. Louis wouldn't be his first boyfriend, but he continued being his best friend, and that was infinitely more important. 

Because of their history, the two boys knew each other better than anyone. And no matter how popular Louis had gotten when they got to secondary school, he refused to leave Harry behind. Harry wasn't unlikable. Far from it. Harry just had a bit of trouble where he spoke a bit too slow, his jokes a bit offbeat. When he came out a few people gave him shit, but Louis was quick and vicious when defensive. He hadn't left his side for a second, and when people tried to push at Harry, Louis would be right there to push them back, and slam them down. 

But just because Harry and Louis were inseparable, didn't mean that Louis was ever particularly nice to him. 

"Harry." Louis demanded, his abrupt change in subject bringing the entire group's attention to the curly haired boy. Harry was on his phone, texting Nick. Louis adopted his best imitation of their maths teacher, gesturing towards the phone in Harry's palm. "Got something you'd like to share with the rest of us?" 

Harry smiled toothily, hoping he looked clueless enough to conceal the fact that he's telling Nick how much he wants his cock in his mouth. He locks his phone. "Just texting your mum, she wants to know when I'm coming over."

That earns some laughs, which Harry preens over. It wasn't his usual style of joke, but he will occasionally throw in a people pleaser every so often. The Cher girl, who Harry only knows from seeing her with Eleanor, leans into his arm, laughing with a perfect little lilt to it. Harry leans into her, loves when people touch him, even if it's girls he doesn't know except that she'd flashed a couple of cars on a dare once, according to Eleanor. 

Louis waves his hand, smiling a bit despite his attempt to seem serious. "You're texting your old man boyfriend again, aren't you? You always are."

"You've got a boyfriend?" Sophia asks, eyes bright and interested. 

"An old man boyfriend." Louis insists, before Harry can speak. 

"He's not an old man," Harry says, rather defensively. "And he's not my boyfriend, either. We're just talking."

Jesy from English, sitting on the steps beside Sophia and Liam speaks up, "Rebecca told me that she's seen you with some twenty year old walking out near the fields behind her house. Said you looked well ruffled."

"A field?" Niall, leaning against the wall near where Harry's sat, looks down at Harry with a grin on his face. "What were you doing there, just talking?"

Louis looks a mix between delighted and revolted. "Harry Styles, I cannot believe you. In a field? Couldn't wait to get home, then? Had to have him then and there?" 

Harry considers his options. Could deny it, they probably wouldn't believe him. He also didn't want to deny it. Wanted to rub their face in how much they were doing it. He knows for a fact that Louis only gets to have sex once in a blue moon, whenever Eleanor feels charitable. Niall's last sexual partner was his right hand. He doesn't know how often Sophia and Liam are doing it, and doesn't know about Zayn and Perrie either, but Harry's got dicked so hard the night before he was still in a bit of a post-dicking daze. They can't possibly be doing better than him. He's honestly surprised he hadn't told everyone about it earlier. Wait, not surprised. He's been too busy thinking/talking about Nick to tell them. 

So he shrugs, a dirty smile erupting on his face, raising his eyebrows suggestively while simultaneously trying to feign modesty. "Can't keep our hands off each other."

"That's kind of cute," Perrie says, sat with her legs and hands intertwined with Zayn. Harry suspects that they're doing it a lot. 

"Yeah, if you squint." Louis scoffs, and Harry is reaffirmed in the fact that Louis and Eleanor are not doing it a lot. Just then, the bell rings, signalling the end of their lunch period. They all stand up, Harry stuffing his phone in his pocket. He'd barely even eaten his lunch. Didn't have the stomach for jam sandwich. Louis is still looking at Harry, a speculative look on his face. "I want to meet him," he finally says, moving closer to clap Harry on the back. "Should probably meet this guy, make sure he's not going to break your arse, or something."

**Pt. 2 - when things are bad**

Louis meeting Nick is not, in hindsight, the best of ideas. 

They've both got such big, vibrant personalities, that there's really only room for one of them. Harry actually thinks they're remarkably similar, but they're too stubborn to acknowledge it, proving his point. He feels like a piece of meat being tugged between two wolves, but wolves that use thinly veiled insults instead of teeth, thank god.

Harry and Nick meet up with Louis at a burger shop that he knows that his mum hates. They're trying to keep themselves on the down low, which is hard in a town that small. It's not five minutes after Louis' arrived from his football practice and thrown himself on the other side of the booth from the couple, that he's asked Nick why he can't find a boyfriend his own age, and questioned if he wore glasses because he's got a prescription, or if he's trying to be indie. ("Yeah, I've a prescription." "Prescription to look like a wanker.")

Nick looks to Harry at first, eyeing him like he expects Harry to put a leash on his friend, but Harry couldn't even if he had tried. By the end of the meal, Louis and Nick have worked themselves up into steady banter that has too many edges to be playful. Nick asks if he expects that he'll ever grow, Louis turns to Harry and asks him if Nick's got a huge cock, because he can't be with him for his personality. 

Harry watches from the sidelines, feeling rather helpless as the two simultaneously devour their food and continue berating each other. Harry sips at his milkshake, the only thing he ordered, resting his elbow to lean on on the table. He plays absently with the bracelets on Nick's wrists, not wanting to interrupt them when they're clearly having so much fun together. Nick's wrists are nice. Hands, too. Long, bony fingers with protruding veins in his arms, very clever fingers. Harry wants suddenly to suck on his fingers, wants Nick to press them into his mouth and slick him up so he can put them in another part of his body. They've been having sex so regularly while together that it's almost all he can think about when they're near, a slow burning in his lower back that never quite dissipates even when they part. 

He's 17, alright. 17 and so, so horny. 

Harry's still got a firm grip on Nick's arm, daydreaming about when he would be alone with Nick again, when he notices that Louis and Nick have stopped talking and are looking up. Harry frowns, following their line of sight, then frowning more. One of Louis' sisters, Lottie, has just entered with a few of their friends, Lottie calling out a greeting to Louis. From across the room, they can see Lottie's eyes zeroing in on Harry, then on Nick, then on Harry's grasp on Nick's arm. Harry drops it immediately, whipping his hand back so fast he hits it off the edge of the table. 

Lottie smiles at them, more out of politeness than anything else, and turns back to join her friends. The gaggle of girls sit at the counter, chatting loudly and giggling often. "Louis," Harry says, voice low, "you don't think that Lottie would say anything, do you?" 

Louis looks thoughtful. "I dunno," he replies, looking between Harry and Nick again, wheels visibly spinning in his head. "I don't think so. Why, you don't want anyone to know about you two?"

Harry and Nick both bristle uncomfortably. Harry glances at the older man, who suddenly seems incredibly interested in pushing his chicken Caesar around his plate. 

"Louis, can you imagine what my mum would say?" Harry asks, meaning to sound as if it's dreadfully obvious, but his voice comes out sounding a bit pleading regardless. "He's 21. She'd kill me."

Louis purses his lips, eyes narrowing a bit. Adopts an incredibly judgemental expression. "Alright, I'll talk to Lottie later. See if she even picked up on it."

Harry and Nick both heave a simultaneous sigh of relief. "Thanks, Louis." Harry smiles at him brightly.

\\\

A little while later, after they've paid for their food and said good bye to Louis, Harry and Nick drive around for a little while. They talk animatedly, Nick lecturing Harry on his friendship with Louis, and Harry lecturing Nick about his friendship with his roommates. Nick continues to assure Harry that they're not that bad, and Harry tells Nick about his past with Louis. He thinks, that if it were anyone but Nick complaining about Louis, he would have been angry, but Nick's voice is light, teasing, and every insult towards the boy is laughably empty. 

It's almost a perfect evening; Nick parks them in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station just outside town where no one will run into them. The sun is setting, and the November weather is changing, sun streaking through the windows and heating up his skin. They move to the backseat, cramped and dirty as it is, and Nick kisses down his neck, biting on his collar and hands tight on his ribs. Harry's half delirious, eyes showing white as he writhes under Nick's body, draping itself over him as they slide out of their clothing. Nick whispers into his skin, sweet compliments about how gorgeous he is, and how he never wants to leave that car. Nick's got a condom-- he's always got a condom-- and he's got lube, but the prep is quick and soon enough Nick's pushing into him, breath hissing from between his teeth. 

Harry's fingers run through Nick's hair, grown longer than it was when they had first done this. Their movement is limited in the tiny space, but it's okay. Nick doesn't get a leg cramp, like he did when they had sex on the couch in Harry's living room. His cock moves, slow and dragging against his walls, Harry keening because Nick's fucking him and jerking him off with the hand he'd wanted in his mouth in the restaurant, with a practiced ease that their weeks of secretly seeing each other had allowed them. Nick could bring him to more than one orgasm, if they had time, but they didn't. The sun was setting, light fading in the foggy car. 

Harry hooks his legs around Nick, pulling him in closer for one deep thrust, whines daddy, then comes. Nick follows soon after, slumping down on top of Harry, breathing heavily. 

"Why don't you want anyone to know about us?"

Nick's quiet, still not recovered fully. He can hear the older man gathering his thoughts, blood returning to normal circulation. "What?"

"Before, when we were with Louis." Harry squirms back a bit, pushing himself onto his elbows. "I don't want my parents to find out about us. But why don't you want to be seen with me?"

Nick had a bewildered expression on his face, sitting back up onto his knees as he slides out. It's a bit ridiculous, Harry's come drying on both of their stomachs, and Nick hadn't even pulled out before Harry asked his question. But it had been bothering him this entire time, just hadn't realized it. "Er? What are you even on about?"

"I mean," Harry pulls his legs away from Nick, grimacing a bit at moving himself so soon and so quickly after sex. "I know you're going away soon, so it's not like I want you to want to meet my parents or something, but like. Would you like, want to properly date me, if you could? Or is too embarrassing dating someone so much younger?" 

Nick's expression shifts from confused, to conflicted, to something that resembles pity. "Hey, you're not embarrassing. Anyone would be happy to have you."

Harry waits, to see if Nick is going to say something else. He doesn't. "Oh," he swallows, saliva feeling thick in his throat. "Anyone, but not you, right?" 

"Harry," Nick reaches a hand out to touch him, but Harry pulls away. Nick's hand lays there, hovering in the air between them, before he lets it fall to his side. "It's not because anything you did, you're just." He hesitates, searching for the words. "Too young. I couldn't date a boy still in secondary school. People would call me a pedophile."

Harry blinks, eyes hot. He's dangerously close to tears, but he refuses to cry in front of Nick. He has before, has a couple times, only some of them during sex. "But not too young to fuck, right?"

"Harry--"

But he can’t listen to it, not now. There’d been a part of him that had suspected this for almost as long as they’d been doing this; that since Nick was going away so soon that he was only looking for a warm body to fuck in to. And he knew that, logically, that that was what was happening. That he couldn’t expect Nick to fall for him, couldn’t hope for their casual sex to be anything more than... well, casual sex. That’s what he’d agreed to. That’s what he’d signed up for. And despite all that, he still managed to get attached. 

"I think it's time you take me home."

//

They're both quiet on the drive back. They had silently gotten dressed, then moved back into the front seat. Nick seemed to have trouble looking directly at Harry. Harry was still trying not to cry. 

Nick drops him off at the end of his street, like usual. Harry jumps out as soon as the car reaches a complete stop. He feels tired, sore, but the humiliation of being used presses harder on him than any other feeling. Nick idles in the car for a moment as Harry walks away, but then he leaves. Harry grits his jaw, pulling his school bag close to his body. He wants to throw up. 

When he nears his house, he spots Louis sitting on his front steps. When the boy sees Harry approaching, he rushes out of his seat towards him. 

"Not really in the mood, Lou," Harry starts, wanting nothing more than to go up to his room and cry. They come to a stop on Harry's lawn to talk. All the cars are in the driveway, which means that everyone is home, which is expected. He's missed dinner, missed when he told his mum he'd be home. 

"No, Harry listen." Louis looks worried, a funny little crease forming between his brow. He seems more hyperactive than usual. "Lottie got home before me. She told my mom that she saw you holding hands with an older guy. Mum asked me about it, and I didn't say anything, obviously. But I think she might have said something to your mom."

A cold feeling rushes down Harry's spine. He looks up at his house, which suddenly looks imposing in the twilight. "Okay, thanks for the heads up, Louis." He reaches a hand to pat his friend on the shoulder, still looking up, and he misses completely. His hand falls to his side, Louis watching him warily. Harry sets off without another word, walking with a barely noticeable limp towards his front door. 

He feels a deep sense of foreboding hovering heavily in the air, weighing him down. He drags his feet when he opens the door, dreading what would probably happen next. 

The house is quiet, the only sound the TV playing in the living room. When Harry shuts the door behind him, the TV turns off. Harry flinches. He shucks off his shoes just as his mum rounds the corner with a cross look on her face. She definitely knows. 

Before she even gathers the breath to shout, Harry heaves out a soft, half strangled sob. He can't handle his mom yelling at him on the best of days, definitely not when his status as "fuck toy" has just been confirmed. He rushes past her, going fast enough that he barely sees the surprised look cross her face, and runs up the stairs to his room. He slams the door shut behind him, leaning on the door. 

Harry looks with great distaste at the room around him. It's all shades of blue and green, earthy colours that usually make him feel at ease. He thought that he wanted to fall into bed and cover himself up and never get up, but now that he's here he sees it as an impossibility. He remembers clenching those sheets between his fingers as Nick entered him for the first time, for the first time anyone entered him. And having his first time be with someone who apparently cared so little about him as an actual human being made him ache in the hollows of his chest. He's breathing more rapidly now, tears welling up behind his eyes, great fat drops that threaten to drip from his ducts. 

There's a knock on the door. "Harry?" It's Anne, her voice sounding a lot softer than he had expected it. She doesn't sound angry, which somehow makes it a bit worse, because she's worried now and Harry's gonna blubber on her shoulder and tell her everything now. 

"Go away," he tries, but stepping away from the door so she can open it. He starts toward his bed, but doesn't quite make it, lowering himself to the floor and leaning against his mattress. He's tired, and he wipes at his eyes furiously to get rid of the tears as his door creaks open.

Anne slowly pushes the door, padding cautiously into his room. She shuts the door behind her, regarding Harry with concerned eyes. Harry closes his own, not wanting to see Anne's face as she studies him, a hot tear leaking out and falling down his face.

"Harry..." Her voice sounds just as concerned as when he was little and he fell face first into a plant when he tried surfing down the stairs on his mattress. He'd had to go to the hospital for that, busted his head open on the rim of the planter and needed three stitches. But that was when he was 11; 6 years before, and he'd never given her a reason for genuine concern until now. Until he came home late after being only half-present for weeks, and cried almost the second he walked inside. 

"Mum, I'm sorry." Harry began, voice cracking already under how hard he was trying to not weep. "I should've told you, shouldn't have lied about him."

"Oh, Harry. My sweet baby." Anne rushes over to him, moving down on the ground beside him just as he starts to cry in earnest. She pulls his head to her chest, making soothing noises, rubbing his back. Harry clutches onto her, feeling the little pieces of himself that he'd desperately tried to put together in Nick's car fall apart, leaving him open and bare and so, so hurt. "What's wrong, love? It's okay, you've told me now. That's all that matters."

Harry tries to muster up a sentence, he really does, but he can't. Every word that falls out of his mouth is rubbish, non-sensical dribble that is more sob than words.

So he just cries, just let's himself cry for a little bit, and he'll tell Anne what happened after. She just needs to let him cry. 

Anne rocks her son peacefully, running her fingers up his back and through his hair. She eventually stops trying to make her half-shushing noises, and opts to just hum softly to him, a lullaby he hadn't heard since he was a little boy. It works, Harry gradually quiets, breaking off from noisy weeping to snuffling, wiping tears and snot out from his face. He's never been a pretty crier; when he cries he gets red faced and splotchy, all snot and hacking sobs and no cute little sniffles. He listens to her humming, hears the melody reverberate through her chest. It's nice, he's warm, he can almost forget about how Nick didn't want him, never wanted him, and never would want him for anything but sex. 

"Now," Anne murmurs, after Harry has lapsed into silence. "Why don't you tell me what's happened to you, huh?"

Harry shifts slightly, still in her arms but a bit more upright. He's uncomfortable again, and he feels more embarrassed than he's ever been in his life. But now that she knows, he's going to tell her what happened. "His name is Nick. He doesn't like me."

Anne doesn't say anything, just continues stroking his back, waiting for him to tell the story. Harry picks at his cuticles nervously. "I met him almost two months ago? Was right after school started up again, when Louis and Niall and Zayn and I went to that party at Perrie's? Well, it wasn't Perrie's party, it was her sister's. Her older sister, you know?

"Sorry for not telling you before it was that kind of party. Gonna be sorry for a lot of things in this story, though, so. Our group were the youngest ones there, just the boys and a couple of Perrie's friends. Everyone else was in their twenties, just like Nick." Anne sucks in a breath, that Harry only notices because his cheek is mashed against her collar. Harry clenches his eyes shut, and continues. "Nick's like, I mean you haven't met him, so you don't know, but he's just really cool. Got this way about him that seems really effortless, like he's never been worried before in his life. And at the party, there was this other guy hanging off of him, trying to like, kiss him and stuff, and Nick was like, indifferent to it. I mean, the guy was really, really good looking, and Nick just stood with an arm around his waist like, 'yeah, I'm used to it'. I thought that was wicked. Never met anyone who has been so casual with being gay, or whatever. Everyone on TV is always so sad about it. Thought it was nice that he wasn't sad.

"So we were at this party, and Louis kept getting drinks for us, sorry, and I was getting a bit drunk? Not proper drunk, just enough that I didn't feel so nervous. Still knew what I was doing. And I was watching Nick the whole night, he kept walking back to the stereo, he chose all the songs, and he played a lot of house, dancey music. I kept making my way to the stereo, wanted to run into him when he broke away from the guy to change the music. And I did, it happened. I was with Zayn, and Nick looked up at us just standing nearby, and he sort of smiled at us? I think he smiled at us, I spilt my drink all over my front when he looked up. Such an idiot. Zayn laughed at me, and so did Nick, and I took it as an opportunity to leave Zayn and go up to this guy. 

"He was even more good looking up close, honestly. He's taller than me, with his hair pushed up. He wears these glasses with thick frames that he only really needs for reading, but he thinks they make him look thoughtful. Has really nice eyelashes, as well, but that's sort of besides the point. I said hello, and he said hello back, and we started talking. Can't remember what about, think it might have been about music. He told me his name, and he put his number in my phone under a rose emoji, isn't that cute? Trying to be charming, I think, and I was charmed, definitely. He didn't ask how old I was, and I didn't tell him, and we talked for a really long time before I convinced him to come with me to another room."

There was no way that Harry would tell his mom exactly what happened next. She could infer, but there was no way that he could actually say it. He had been to Perrie's house before, knew his way around it, and half drunk and half giddy he had dragged Nick with him to Perrie's bedroom. He had his hand clasped around the older man's wrist, Nick following after him while keeping up a conversation with the man who Harry had seen with Nick earlier. Harry hadn't told his mum this part, but a little while after Nick had started talking to Harry, the man he was with walked over to see what was going on. He never introduced himself, so Harry never learned his name, but he was really gorgeous. He was all sharp cheekbones and dark eyes, thick lips and mesh shirt. Nick didn't seem all that into him, and the more the man tried to insert himself between Harry and Nick the more determined Harry was to get Nick for himself. The man even followed after them when Harry pulled him away, only losing him when Harry shuts Perrie's bedroom door firmly in his face after he and Nick both slide in.

"Finally, he's gone." Harry sighs, making sure that the door is locked behind them. The room is dark, but empty, and that's all they really need. 

"Finally, we're alone," Nick is suddenly right in his ear, pressing his body into Harry's from the back, crowding him against the door. Nick's hands sweep down his body, hovering over his hips, and he mouths at Harry's ear. 

"Have to be quick," Harry breathes, pushing off the wall a bit, just enough that his bum presses into Nick's groin. "Don't know when Perrie will want in her room."

Nick's fingers close on his hipbones, holding him in place as he starts to grind on Harry's bum. They're both fully clothed, but Harry can feel Nick work his way up to hardness on him. "You mean this isn't your room?" Nick asks, hot on his neck. Nick looks around, theatrically. "The Princess crown on the wardrobe isn't yours? Shame, it'd go so nice in your pretty curls."

Harry grunts, what Nick's saying somehow going straight to his cock. He had been bracing himself on the door with both hands, but he moves one down to palm himself. "Say that, again."

"What, call you pretty?" Nick is reaching from Harry's hips to the button on the front of his jeans, unzipping his fly. He pushes down Harry's jeans just enough that they pool around his knees, then does the same with his own trousers. Nick is in boxers, Harry in briefs, but now there's less resistance for Nick's cock as he grinds down on Harry's arse. "Or Princess? Maybe both."

"Both," Harry bites his bottom lip, and he slips his hand down his pants to grasp his dick to lessen his embarrassment from asking a complete stranger to call him Princess. 

Nick is picking up speed, his cock hard on his ass now, breathing sounding louder from where he leans his head against the side of Harry's head. "Alright, Princess. Do you want me to jerk you off while I rub myself on your cute little ass?" 

Harry nods his head rapidly, unable to find the words for how much he does want that. 

"Good, pull down your pants, then. Let me see you."

Harry quickly obliges, Nick leaning back for a moment while they both push the final bit of clothing covering their genitals down. Harry knows, objectively, that they're being ridiculous, Nick humping him from behind in his friend's girlfriends bedroom, with a party going on downstairs. They're not even fully undressed, just pushed down to their knees to get access. He doesn't particularly care, though, especially when Nick's hands close around his cock, thumbing at the top like he's given a lot of handjobs.

And now Nick's dick is rubbing against him bare, nothing between their skin. He slots in between Harry's cheeks, spitting down on his dick so it's not completely dry. Harry again, doesn't really care what he does back there, as long as his hand keeps up the movement on him up front. 

"Think I'm gonna come," Harry moans, and he can't believe he's going to come so soon, having barely even started. 

"Alright, come on, Princess. Come in my hand, bet you look so pretty, bet you look so nice." Nick croons encouragingly. With a thumb, he takes a bead of pre-come leaking from his dick, and wipes it all around his head. "Want you to come."

With a soft cry, Harry does as he is told. He spurts into Nick's hand, on his shirt, and onto Perrie's door, which he'll be sorry about later. Nick murmurs, "good job, you're so good," as he wipes the come off his hand onto Harry's shirt. Harry doesn't mind, it's already dirty and Nick's just given him an orgasm, would do whatever it was Nick wanted him to do, honestly. 

Nick resumes his pace grinding, having slowed down temporarily while focused on Harry. He grunts, soft noises escaping his mouth while fucking Harry without actually fucking him. The younger man, still in a bit of a daze, whispers, "want you to come on my face. In my mouth."

Nick freezes momentarily, before letting out a loud grunt. He pulls away, spinning Harry around, who immediately sinks to his knees. He's given a blowjob before, practiced a bit on one of the guys on Louis' football team who wasn't even close to coming out. He's alright at them, he thinks, though by the looks of it, Nick is a lot bigger than Tyler from school. He's a lot closer to coming, though, which will certainly make things easier. 

Harry gets down to it, grasping at the base of his cock with one hand, licking a stripe down the bottom of his shaft. Nick is incredibly responsive, telling him how good he is with his mouth as Harry becomes more enthusiastic with his technique. Harry leans down, licks at Nick's balls with gusto, appreciating the way that Nick moans when he does. He suckles at one ball, then the other, twisting his face so that the rest of his dick doesn't get in the way. 

Harry moves back up, putting the head in his mouth and bobbing up and down. He cups Nick's balls with one hand, and jerks Nick's cock with the other hand. 

Harry sinks down, taking Nick farther and farther in. He hums, vibrations stimulating his cock further, when he feels something hard press at his hair. He pulls off, looking up at Nick, who is grinning at him, looking sweaty and lovely. "Prettiest Princess," Nick explains, and Harry realizes with a jolt of satisfaction that Nick has just placed the plastic crown from Perrie's dresser, right beside the door, and nestled it in with Harry's curls. Doesn't know why it makes him preen contently. 

He redoubles his efforts, inspired by the crown on his head to give Nick the best blowjob he could give. And it doesn't take long, Harry's barely put his mouth back over his cock when Nick warns him, slow and pleased, that he's going to come. Harry opens his mouth wide, just the tip resting on his lips, as Nick comes in his mouth. He feels it coating his tongue, making him feel oddly gratified as he waits for the man to finish. This night had gone better than he could have ever planned. 

Harry leaned back, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, falling back onto his bum from his kneeling position. He grins up at Nick, breathing heavily and already pulling his pants back up. "We have to do that again."

Nick considered this, mouth curling up into an answering smile. After he zips himself up, he offers a hand to help the younger man up. "You got it, Princess."

But there was absolutely no way that he was telling his mother that he got drunk, got off on a stranger calling him Princess, and swallowed his come. Anne was accepting, and forward thinking, but there was a limit to what Harry felt like he could discuss with his mother before it turned weird. 

Harry had lapsed into silence long enough, going over what had happened that night that Anne cleared her throat. "Okay, we can skip that. Tell me more about this Nick."

He smiled, despite himself. "Nick's amazing. He works on the local radio station? I don't know if you've heard him? But he's so funny and you can't help but like him, once you meet him. He's always like, really nice to everyone he meets, no matter who they are, and I wanted you to meet him really bad, but I thought you'd be angry if you knew I was seeing someone older."

"You thought right." Anne sighs, rubbing her face tiredly with one hand, still cradling Harry with her other. "I want to meet him anyway."

Harry blinks, fighting back a fresh wave of tears that threaten to break. He manages to not cry. "You can't. We're not, it's not going to work out, after all."

"Why not?" 

"Because," Harry says, finally pulling off of Anne's chest, straightening his back so he's just sat beside her. "He's leaving soon. Got a job down in London, leaving Monday after next. And he's a twat, sorry.

"We spent like, all the time together since that night. And I lied to you a lot, because nearly every single time I told you that I was going out to see Louis, or someone else, I was with Nick. He's got his own place with his roommates, but they don't like me because they think I'm too young, and I guess Nick thinks so too. But like, that's absolute shit, you know? Because we, we did things, lots of things," Harry swallows, uncomfortable again, "and I apparently wasn't too young to do those? But I'm too young to actually date? How does that work at all? He was just taking advantage of me, I guess, and I just found that out tonight, after we-- after we were talking in his car."

"What did you do with him?"

"Mum," Harry looks at the opposite wall, because of all the things she could have focused on, it's this.

"Harry Edward," Anne says, sounding strict again. Harry can feel himself shrinking away from her. "What did you do with this man?" 

"Mum--"

"Did you have sex with him?"

"Mum!"

"Harry, did you have sex with him?"

Harry can feel his throat closing up on him. "Yeah, yeah I did."

Anne sighs again, much deeper this time. She doesn't stand up, though, still leaning against the side of Harry's bed, which he sees as a win. She likes to pace when she shouts. "Were you safe about it?"

"Yes, always." Harry nods, omitting the fact that there were multiple times where Harry pleaded with Nick to take him without a condom, because he wanted to feel him. Nick always refused. 

"Well, at least there's that. Don't have to worry about you getting sick. Or pregnant."

Harry hangs his head, ashamed of himself nonetheless. Anne's disappointed in him, he can tell, and no matter how adamant she was about her being okay with him liking boys it still felt like a slap to the face. Harry's sure that her disappointment is due to him having lots of secret sex, and had nothing at all to do with it being lots of secret sex with a guy, but the fear still wriggled in the back of his head. What if she wasn't okay with him, at all? 

Anne's still sitting beside him, though, so she can't be that against it. It's an irrational fear. He knows this. He'll probably keep telling himself that for the rest of his life. 

Anne huffs out another sigh, pressing on her forehead with her jewelry clad fingers. "Well, that's that then. Nothing to be done now, is there?"

"No," Harry agrees, still a little sulkily. There is nothing to be done. Nick will leave, Harry won't see him ever again. That's the end. 

They sit there silently for another minute. Harry doesn't know what to say, and Anne appears to be in deep thought about something probably related to how much she loathes her son, he thinks. Then, she pulls herself to her feet, just a little bit creaky in the knees, and turns around to offer a hand to Harry. "C'mon, then. Let's go bake something, I know that will cheer you up."

//

The next few days pass laboriously slowly. 

Anne and his step-dad keep watching him, like he's liable to just spontaneously burst into flames at any given moment. He thinks it's quite shit, and he can't figure out if they think of him differently now that they know he's done it, or if they just think he's that weak that he'll break down in tears in the middle of dinner. Both scenarios are shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

Everything else is pretty mediocre, as well. He feels a bit sick about everything. His phone is silent nearly all day, and Harry forgot how little he texted everyone who wasn't Nick. His friends get that something happened, and Louis watches him with Concerned Friend Eyes wherever he goes. He doesn't tell them that he and Nick are basically over (if they were anything to start with), but they seem to get it on their own, which is a relief. They don't ask about him. They don't talk about him. And when Jesy asks what happened to Harry and that guy, Louis practically bites her head off. 

Harry thinks he'll appreciate it in a couple of years. Not now, though. Now he just wants to not talk about it during the day so he can crawl back into bed at night and maybe have a little cry. Just a little one, though. 

The worst thing, Harry thinks, is the old ladies at the bakery he works at. For the past three months, Harry had been skipping into work with a smile, and making thinly veiled references about Nick. He wouldn't say his name, or anything, but he'd go on and on about this guy he knew in radio, this guy who told him about 80s music, this guy who had this cool old car. They could all tell he was completely mad over this guy, and they would tease him relentlessly for it, which he took in stride because hey, he was bonkers for Nick. He had been half a sentence away from telling them all how far he deep throated Nick the other night. He was happy. 

But now. Harry hated disappointing them, but he was on the lighter side of miserable at all times. He couldn't handle them teasing him about the boy he liked, because he never wanted to think about the boy he liked again. Barbara picked up that something was different right away, and told the other ladies about it, Harry thinks. They don't tease him anymore. Treat him just as delicately as they treat the really delicate pastries. Harry is not a chocolate eclair. 

And his phone is silent. He thinks that's okay. 

//

The Thursday after Harry tells his mum what happened, Harry sees Nick again. It's only been three days, but Harry is all out of sorts. He'd jumped into having sex, and then his body was used to doing it at least once a day, sometimes more. His bottom was sore, the kind of achiness that comes a couple days after exercising, and his system was out of whack. He was even more horny than he would have been before, and he was a teenage boy. 

It's right in the middle of his sex-withdrawal that he sees Nick. He's with Louis and Zayn, walking through town after school because Louis insisted that he was in chronic need of some sweets. Louis' coach had told him that the only thing he was in need of was some protein, but Louis was seemingly trying to prove her, and science wrong. 

"A diet. I spit on her diet. I can't believe she would expect this from me."

"A professional coach would want you to eat what she's telling you, as well."

"Technicalities, Malik. I'm going to show her that I can eat whatever I'd like and still be the star of that field. I'll show you all."

Harry had zoned out a bit, back when Louis and Zayn were talking about how many carbohydrates he needed, looking around them. He sees the old man who lives on Louis' and his street who would give out the massive Cadbury bars on Halloween. He starts to smile at him, even though his mum had made him swear off Halloween this year. Louis' still going, taking his sisters trick or treating, and Harry would make him pick him up some treats.

The old man-- Mr. Aldwin?-- is outside the thrift shop, smiling up at a taller, much younger man who is chatting to him. They're only a bit down and across the street, and Harry can hear the twinge of Nick's voice from where he stops dead in his tracks. 

Louis and Zayn stroll on ahead, not noticing Harry freezing behind them. Louis' still going on about chocolate. Harry's two seconds away from ducking behind some bins until Nick and Mr. Aldwin disperse, but it's just then that Nick looks up from his conversation and sees Harry. His face falls.

Harry rushes forward, catching up to Zayn and Louis in a jumble of wobbly limbs. He feels a bit like he's going to be sick, his throat closing up pathetically and his eyes burning. 

Zayn and Louis don't notice; the three of them just keep walking, and Harry tries not to be too upset that Nick doesn't even make the attempt to call after him. 

//

That Friday Niall invites all of them over for a much needed boys night. It starts out as FIFA in Niall's basement, but then Zayn inevitably invite Perrie, who invites Eleanor, who invites all the girls in their friend circle, who invite a bunch more guys. It's still not really a party, just a gathering, but Niall's dad gives them beer and Zayn's brought his own party favours. 

There's music playing, and Harry's clutching a beer in his hands, and the room is half obscured in smoke. Reminds Harry of the party at Perrie's house, where he met Nick. 

Harry finishes one beer, listens politely to Cher's news that her brother in Liverpool had a baby, then says goodbye. He walks home alone in the dark, the cold November air biting at his cheeks. The moon is obscured behind weak winter clouds, which have yet stubbornly refused to release even the lightest falling of snow. Harry pulls out his phone, fiddles with twitter for a minute (RT's Louis' tweet about lads, favourites Jade's picture of Liam looking properly smashed), and then hovers over his messages. 

His message thread with Nick is still visible without scrolling; Harry only texts his mum, Louis, and Niall regularly. He looks down at his last conversation with Nick. 

Harry looks thoughtfully at the call button. It's midnight, but Nick's probably awake, and he thinks about how nice it would be to hear his voice again. His resolve on ignoring Nick is wavering by the hour, sometimes thinking about how he's better off without Nick, the other half of him wishing it would be easy to just take him back before he inevitably leaves.

And that's just it, isn't it? Nick's departure, in a handful of days makes every argument he's had with himself is irrelevant. It wouldn't matter if he did call the man, and invite him back into his bed. He would be leaving. 

Harry sighs. He closes his messages, and locks his phone. Goes home. 

// 

Harry gets through the weekend at home without incident, and without actually letting himself feel too sorry for himself. He helps his mum around the house, mostly, who is going through her tri-annual cleaning frenzy to prepare for a stuffy winter in their two story. They always have to clean around the radiators especially, and having cluttered rooms in the winter makes it feel like walls are pressing in on them. Robin takes him on Saturday just outside town, and let's Harry drive around a bit. He'd wanted to take his test in October, but he'd mostly forgotten it in the whirlwind of being stupid over Nick.

Gemma takes him to see a movie on Sunday. Niall comes with them, because Niall has a thing for Gemma. Personally, Harry thinks that Gemma is too good for Niall, but he's not got much control over his sister's sex life. The movie is good, and he has fun. It's a sci-fi, makes him think of outer space and distant planets, not boys. 

It's when he gets to school on Monday that he realizes how detrimental his fling had been. It's nearly December, and Harry's barely done any of his course work. He's been ignoring homework (to spend time with Nick), and not paying attention in class (to text Nick), and it's really going to be devastating to his final grades. And he's in his last year of secondary, needs to get the grades to get into school in a city without livestock roaming the streets and a healthy population of 5,000. 

He panics a bit, freezing up. He's in maths, it's barely 9:30 in the morning, and he feels like he's going to throw up out of this sudden onset nervousness. And he does. Right in the middle of class, Harry stands up and rushes out the door without saying a word. He hears the teacher calling out after him, sees Zayn's confused looking face for a half second before he's darting down the hall to the nearest bathroom. He's lucky that his class was only a couple doors away from it, or else he's be vomiting right in the middle of the hallway.

The bathroom is miraculously empty. Harry doesn't even have time to close the stall door behind him before he's heaving up his breakfast, bile burning his throat. The stench of throw up is overwhelming, pressing at his nostrils, and it makes his eyes water. It's so fucking embarrassing, half digested food spewing from his mouth, knowing that he's going to have to return to his class with red eyes and gross breath, all of the classmates he's known since primary school watching him. There's no hope for the bell to switch classes to ring, and for Zayn to take pity on him and bring his bag. His face is red, he can tell, from exertion and from the already developing sense of shame. 

He finishes puking, he thinks, and he falls back onto his bum and leans against the side of the stall. He wants to cry, usually does cry when he pukes, but he can't go back out there with tears still on his face. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, fingers trembling from his episode, and dials his mum's number. 

Anne comes to get him not long after, a worried expression colouring her face. Harry ran into his maths class to get his stuff, murmuring his apologies for interrupting. He's sweaty and pale and faintly green, so he's sure that everyone knows he's just been sick, and it makes him want to slam his head into the wall. 

Anne brings him home, and actually tucks him into bed. She asks him what's wrong, and he says he doesn't know, probably ate some bad eggs for breakfast. She purses her lips, and Harry can't help but jump immediately to her words, "Well, at least there's that. Don't have to worry about you getting sick. Or pregnant."

//

He texts Zayn and Louis later, and between the two of them they round up all the homework he'd missed that day. They let themselves into their house, Anne already beyond used to Louis making himself at home, and they sit on the edge of his bed and explain what major projects are coming up.

Harry listens, eyes wide in slight horror. There's like, a lot. People in high school movies never have to worry about this. People in high school movies always have fun and don't talk about actually being in high school. They also get their love interest in the end, but here he is, with food poisoning, wide eyed and a major assignment away from not getting into any university. 

Harry asks them to leave after a little while, claiming he felt too ill for company, which wasn't exactly untrue. He felt queasy; a knot of stress weighing down his limbs. Being with Nick had been one big, enormous distraction. He hadn't thought about any of the consequences, hadn't thought about what it could be doing to his grades. Or if he did, he didn't think about the fact that this year his grades actually matter. 

Harry bunkers down, determined to catch up on his course load as soon as possible. His new, focused attitude registers with the rest of the boys, who mostly just back off a bit. Liam offers to help him study, Louis asks if Harry wants to copy all of his notes (Harry doesn't, Louis' notes are rubbish). Harry musters up the courage of actually go up to his teachers and ask what he could do to catch up. His lit teacher is super nice about it all, makes him up a little booklet to complete and hand in by winter break. The rest of them are considerably less enthusiastic, just pointing out that it's still early in the year and he'll be fine. 

The stress doesn't go away, though. No matter how much work he completes, he still feels a festering worry deep in his stomach, making him nearly constantly nauseous. 

And then it's only a handful of days before Nick's leaving, and Harry swears to himself that he only knows because he had it written down on one of the scraps of paper that he had perpetually on the top of his desk, and Nick shows up at his house in the middle of the night. He'd jumped the fence into his backyard, thrown tiny stones at his window. He was smiling, when Harry looked out, smiling in a way that made it clear that he knew what a godawful cliche it was, but was doing it anyways. Harry snuck down to the backdoor, and let Nick in, so suddenly aware that Nick was leaving.

Nick's wearing a leather jacket, Harry wearing his winter flannel pyjamas with dinosaur claw slippers. The air is cold, way too cold, but Harry is a bit reluctant to let the man in when his family is sleeping right inside.

"Hiya Haz," Nick is smiling, eyes looking careful, teeth clacking in cold. 

"Hi." 

The older man rubs his hands together to warm them up, and Harry is staring at his fingers, knuckles pale in the frigid moonlight. "It occurred to me, that I phrased our last conversation badly. You might've misinterpreted it as me using you, or something."

"I did," Harry replies, shivering. He's too tired and too cold to be anything but direct with Nick, and he's always been the type to be upfront about matters of the heart. "Dunno how else I could have taken it."

Nick makes a face. "I wasn't using you. Well, I guess, I suppose I was, in a way, but not in a way that means it didn't actually mean anything to me? You're like, one of the most genuinely kind person I've ever met, and I think you're really fit, in a 'I'd like to shag your brains out' way, while it should be 'look how cute, a 17 year old' way. You following?"

Harry nods, narrowing his eyes a bit. He's flattered, despite himself, always one for compliments. Especially when the compliments come from, again, despite himself, boys he likes. 

"Anyway. I'm just, total shit at relationships, you know? Never been one for being a boyfriend, think I'd be rubbish at it. And I'm leaving to London, and you deserve better than a person like me. Thought you storming off like that would be better, letting you have a clean break. You could go to your friends and talk about how shit I am, and you'd get over it. Find someone less neurotic. But the more time went by, the less I wanted your last impression of me to be as me being a dick. And I didn't want my last impression of you being you walking away. Been wrestling with myself for days. Didn't know what I wanted to do. Ended up here, still."

"Alright," Harry is on edge, stomach involuntarily filling with butterflies as Nick talks. "So you just wanted to tell me that? Wanted to say 'it's not you, it's me'?"

Nick's mouth curls up again, half-ironic smile pulling on his lips. He nods. Harry rolls his eyes. 

Invites him in, anyway.

It's so late, or so early, that Harry's sure that they won't wake his parents. They climb the stairs, Harry dragging Nick with tight fingers around his wrist, comforted by the solid feeling of him. Harry locks his door, which he never does, and he pushes Nick down on his bed and kisses him. 

He doesn't really care about Nick not being in love with him, or whatever. Before, he was full of indignant outrage, because wasn't that what he was supposed to do? Nick was his first, and wasn't his first supposed to confess their love and stay for awhile? But this whole thing wasn't like that, Harry was starting to realize. He'd met Nick at a party, hadn't told him he was underage for awhile after. It was all very casual, and how could be hold it against Nick when that's what they'd both agreed on? Both knew there was an expiration date looming in the near future, both knew that they weren't in this for the long term. Wasn't Nick's fault that Nick hadn't instantly fallen in love the second his cock hit the back of Harry's throat. 

Nick takes him apart, Harry biting the fleshy part of his hand to stop himself from making noise. It's quiet, frantic movement, rustling against the sheets, rolling from missionary to cowboy style after Nick opens him up. When they come, they come at different times but equally muddled, gasping into the sides of each other's neck. Harry's parents sleep on, right down the hallway. 

Nick sneaks into his bedroom the next night, too. And the night after that. Harry's got a shed right outside his window, and they've found that Nick can be competent athletically when he's got the right motivation. 

Harry goes to school each day, does extra credit and spends time with his friends. He gets fucked each night. He doesn't let himself pretend that it means anything more than what they've already agreed to, doesn't let himself be fooled into a romantic state of mind. He's 17. Why the fuck would he expect to find the love of his life at a house party?

On Thursday night, Nick lingers for a bit longer than he usually does. He generally comes and goes, maybe cuddles for a minute before collecting himself and putting his cock back in his pants. 

"I'm leaving on Monday."

"I know."

He doesn't let the words come careening from his throat, doesn't let them ache and reverberate in his ribcage. If it's bittersweet, it's only because he's pessimistic about his chances of finding another competent lover in the whole of Cheshire. 

Nick collects himself, and leaves. Harry wakes up the next morning and runs to the bathroom to vomit. For the fourth time that week. There's cum dried on his stomach. He makes a decision. 

//

It's Friday and he's on lunch with his three closest friends in the school bathroom and Nick is leaving in three days. Louis hasn't arrived yet, had sped out of class as soon as the bell rang for their shared lunch, sped in his mum's Prius to get to the drug store. Zayn and Liam and Niall and Harry had been too embarrassed to go, but Louis had no shame. He's the type of guy who would wrinkle his nose when Eleanor asked him to pick up her tampons from the store or birth control from her dad's house in Northwich, but would slap down the heavy flow pack in front of the cashier, and would knock on her dad's door without blinking an eye. 

Was only natural that they'd send them to get this. 

Zayn and Liam keep exchanging worried looks when they think Harry isn't looking, and Niall is chatting cheerfully from his position sat on the sink counter. They were in the dirty bathroom up on the second floor where no one really ever goes. Niall's put one of the orange cones he nicked from the science lab on the floor outside, further ensuring their privacy. 

Harry's trying to look calm, but his insides are tied into knots. He glances at the door every 15 seconds, wringing his hands in his nervousness. 

They'd always used protection. Harry remembers pleading for Nick to go in bare, but he'd always insist. But he had been feeling so sick for two weeks now; something must have gone wrong. He knew how unlikely it was, but he just had this feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Just as Niall's started talking about the colleges he was going to apply to (and really, when Niall starting talking about his upcoming education, you know he's running out of topics to blather on about), Louis bursts in, juggling his car keys with a plastic bag marked with the crest of the local drug store. 

"That was fucking embarrassing, Haz. Hell, you should've seen the look he gave me when I asked if this was his only brand test. Nearly offed myself right there. Still got him to show me where he'd been hiding the Clear Blue."

Zayn immediately darts over to Louis, looking beyond relieved to see him. Harry remembers, that Before Nick, Harry was jealous of Louis and Zayn's new closeness. Was really possessive, didn't like how Zayn and Louis would keep to themselves sometimes, cutting contact with all of them. Liam and Niall were always good for a laugh, and if he needed a good cry he could potentially go to them, but Louis was his friend. His best friend. Zayn relaxing when Louis entered the room made his mood get even worse. 

"Alright," Louis was announcing, after noisily dumping the lot of boxes onto the counter beside Niall. He's bought at least 10, 3 or 4 different brands and multiples of each. Louis picks one up again, tossing the plastic bag over his shoulder carelessly because he's a knob and knows Harry will pick it up for him. He turns the box over, reading the back. Beside him, Niall pokes around with his pinky finger, touching them as if afraid they're going to blow up. "These ones have a little plus, but I know the other ones have two little lines, think they'd be the same if they're negative though--"

"Thanks, I'll take them." Harry pushes past Louis, a bit rougher than he means to. He can't help it, feels proper defensive as he watches the rest of them gawk at the tests littering the sink. Liam looks bewildered. Niall confused. Zayn keeps looking from the boxes, to Harry, then to Louis. Harry feels his neck burn hot, and he snatches the box out of Louis' hand, then gathers the rest up in his arms. He turns sharply on his heels, moving towards the bathroom stall, where Niall's placed a water bottle. Harry'd drunk two full bottles already in the past hour, and he's ready to go. 

Harry feels bad immediately after shutting the door behind him. Louis had gone out of his way to help him. They all were there to support him. He shouldn't be shying away from them so much. 

"You alright, Harry?" Liam speaks up, knocking on the stall just as the bell rings to mark the end of break. "You want us to stay here with you?"

Harry hitches in a breath. "No, thanks though. You should all go to class. Tell Thatcher I'm feeling ill, please."

Louis, now, "I think at least one of us should stay--"

"No, I'm fine." Harry crouches down, letting the boxes fall to the ground. "I'll tell you all what happens as soon as I find out. You all should go."

The room is still with an uneasy quiet. After a moment, where Harry doesn't move as he listens for a reply, Niall speaks up. "Well, alright." He sounds unsure. "If you'd like to be alone."

"I would."

The boys all mumble good byes, Louis exiting last with a thinly veiled threat to tell him as soon as he knew something, and then he's alone.

Harry waits a minute, waiting to see if they're actually gone, and then falls back on his bum. It's pathetically familiar to the scene only a couple days back, when he'd thrown up at school. Only this time, he's surrounded in thin boxes, about the size of his hand. He feels sick. 

He pulls out his phone, opening up his last conversation with Nick, which hasn't changed since the last time he looked after that little party. He presses call, but Nick doesn't answer. He holds the phone to his ear for at least 10 seconds after the machine tells him to leave a message, and Harry's only vaguely aware that Nick is gonna be super weirded out by his mouth breathing message. 

But he really has to pee. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, and he rips open the first of the 10 boxes he'll use that afternoon. He spends an hour in the bathroom, and when he's done he puts them all meticulously back in their boxes, then into the plastic bag, then into the garbage. He goes home. 

His hands won't stop shaking. 

**Pt. 3 - when everything changes**

On Harry's 18th birthday, he receives a text. It's from an unknown number, but he's pretty sure that he knows who it's from, because Nick is the only person he knows with a London number. 

_Hey! Happy birthday pal! Pretty sure it's your birthday, I've still got it saved in my phone from before? 18 eh? Next time you're in London we'll get you a nice pint to celebrate, or whatever. Don't get too smashed!_

It's followed soon after by an accompanying text, written what looks a lot more hasty.

_Actually get as smashed as you want, don't take me as your annoying adult figure, pinnacle of wisdom etc etc. Die of alcohol poisoning, it's all good_

_Don't actually die from alcohol poisoning. I don't so mourning_

_**do_

Harry reads through them all, Niall hovering over his shoulder. Niall does that a lot lately. All his friends do, the ones who hadn't jumped ship.

"Delete 'em," Niall says easily, patting Harry on the cheek with the hand not holding his beer. "Delete 'em, then come back to the party. Your mum's taking out the cake. Said something about organic icing, or some shit like that. Good for the wee one." Niall grins, patting him again, then turns to go inside. Harry stands on the icy porch for a few minutes more, eyeing the messages distrustfully. He runs a hand over his stomach, swollen and warm. He deletes them, then goes back inside. 

// 

When Harry first told his mum the news, she did not take it well. She cried a bit, called his step dad on the phone, and made Harry tell him. Then she called his real dad, and that's when Harry started to get really nervous. When Gemma got home from wherever she was, Anne made Harry tell her too. Then Anne got really mad. Gemma sat at the kitchen table beside him, watching in slack jawed silence as his mum quickly unravelled before them.

Imagine that, Gemma shocked into silence. Must be a first.

Gemma eventually comes to, and immediately comes to her brother's aid. Harry hadn't said a word since Anne started ranting about the future, and about the potential Harry had (past tense, of course). Gemma snaps back, deeply defensive, and that's all it takes for Anne's tirade to dissolve into bewildered tears. 

"Sorry," Harry kept saying, the three of them huddled together in the middle of their kitchen. "I'm so sorry."

Anne eventually pulled herself together, as she always did, and apologized for some of the sharper things that she had said. Promised Harry that she'd always be there for him, that there would always be a home for him with them, for as long as he needed it. Told him that they'd make it work. Gemma promised more of the same things, that she'd support him no matter what he did, and that she loved him. When Robin gets home from work, he agrees with them both. Harry almost forgets his mother's crying face, telling him that he'd ruined his life. 

When he tells his friends, he makes sure that they're all together, so he doesn't have to go through the news one at a time. They all gape at him, various expressions of disbelief on their faces. 

"Oh," Louis eventually says. "Well. Congrats?"

Liam sniffles. Harry feels like crying too, but he doesn't. He feels different, now, as if he's aged a lifetime since he saw them last. No matter what he chooses to do, this is a choice that will influence him for the rest of his life. He's 17. He's not supposed to be worried about fucking up his life, unless he's fucking up his life in school.

And he'd already chosen, hadn't he? Couldn't just get rid of the thing. When he thought about the grim reality of an abortion, versus the even more grim reality of spending the rest of his life catering to the needs of a child, he felt like puking up his insides. 

But, he'd always wanted children. Maybe not now, exactly, but still. He wouldn't abort it. 

Which just left Nick, really, and Nick was the person he was most nervous to tell. After he's made the decision to keep it, Nick is naturally the next person to tell. He found out on Friday, told his mum and friends Saturday, and was standing on Nick's doorstep Sunday. He hadn't seen him in a couple days, he'd stopped climbing to his window at night. He'd passed a pub on the way there, felt himself deflate when he realized there'd be no drinking with his friends for awhile. 

But then Aimee answered, cheeks flushed. "Harry!" She exclaimed, clearly at least a bit hammered. "Have you come to wish us off?"

He freezes, every single word and phrase he knows stuck in his throat.

"Is that Harry?!" Nick's voice shouts from inside, followed almost immediately by the man himself. Nick looks much less affected by the drink he holds in his hand, a sloppily mixed drink that he doesn't quite recognize. Something red, sort of brown. Nick beams at him. "Hiya! You want to come in? We've got no furniture, and everything is in boxes. Having a party. It's wicked." To further emphasize his point, a loud crash sounds from inside, accompanied by delighted shrieking, and Aimee darts back in laughing. 

"Er," Harry hadn't planned for this. Hadn't planned for Nick to be drunk, hadn't planned for Nick to be happy to be leaving. He knows, he knows that Nick had been excited. He does know that. Must have forgotten in the last two days. "Actually, can we just talk?"

Nick blinks, smile still plastered on. "Sure." He puts his drink down on the ledge beside them, but stands back for Harry to enter anyways. "We can talk upstairs. Quieter."

Harry nods, feeling shy and small and young. He walks in, Nick following after him. He knows his way around well enough that he can make a beeline for the stairs without anyone spotting the two of them. 

He makes his way to what used to be Nick's room, dodging boxes with the contents spilling out over the top. His room really is mostly empty, only a couple of bags piled in a corner, a mattress with white sheets gone yellow with age. 

 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Nick seals the door behind them, looking impressively serene. "Harry, look."

"No," Harry grits his teeth. Nick probably thinks he's there to sob and beg for him to stay because he's in love with him. Cry at his feet, bend over at the waist and let him have a go until he promises to take him with him. "Need to talk to you. It's important."

Nick looks taken aback, but he takes a seat on the bed. He stretches his long legs out, reaching the span of his entire tiny bedroom. "Alright, you've my full attention." He looks up at him, waiting. 

And Harry freezes again. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he feels like he's swaying as he stands there in front of him. It's Sunday, November 27, 2011, and Nick is leaving. And Harry wants Nick to leave. Wants him, in the most unselfish ways, to leave and get his dream job and live and breathe and fall in love with someone a bit older, a bit more mature, someone who could keep up with him instead of drowning in the shallows like Harry is right now. Wants him to find someone clever, and handsome, someone who Nick sees as an equal, instead of as an embarrassment. Harry wants Nick to go to London, and forget about him. If Harry's life is ruined, he doesn't want to drag Nick down with him. 

Harry opens his mouth at the same time as the door opens. It's the same man that was hanging off of Nick at Perrie's house, all that time ago. He's still beautiful, sharp angles where Harry is soft. Harry hates him, but he wants Nick to fall in love with him. 

"Nicky?" The man says, head tilting coyly, eyes passing over Harry and fixing on Nick. He's got an Italian accent, how did he end up in Holmes Chapel? "Want to give a proper goodbye? A kiss to say arrivederci?” He's slurring, and he stumbles across the room to fall on the bed beside Nick. "We can show your little boy how lovers fuck.”

Nick looks uncomfortable, scooting away from the man almost imperceptibly. Harry's fists unclench, and the red that briefly clouded his eyes washes away blue. "Nicco, give it a rest."

"No," Harry speaks up. "No, it's okay. I just wanted to say goodbye. That I'll miss you."

Nick's eyes go all fond, while Nicco rolls his. Nick raises himself to his feet, long legged and beautiful, and pulls Harry in for a hug. He hooks his chin over Harry's shoulder, arms tight and warm and secure in a way that Harry never wants to leave. "I'll miss you too. So much. You can come visit whenever you want, when we get set up."

Harry's eyelashes flutter, lids falling shut. They'll stay like that for a minute, then Harry will pull away, and he'll go home. Nick will text, and Harry won't reply. Nick will go to London. 

Harry will stay right there. 

//

His last year at school feels surreal. He knew his final year would be different, because of everyone applying to uni, he just didn't foresee that he'd be watching everyone around him applying as he remained in a state of limbo. A state of swollen, constipated limbo. 

And again, this is the choice that he made, he consciously decided to not apply to schools for the fall, but it still feels weird. Zayn spends the month of February angsting over the subtle differences of dorm rooms in Manchester, and the ones in London. Liam and Niall get drunk a lot, then decide their top schools in a hungover stupor. 

Louis stays on the sidelines. He's been telling everyone since year 8 that he's going to be taking time off before uni, but Harry somehow doubted he actually would. The weight of Harry, and Harry's blossoming family ensure that Louis is definitely taking his gap year and staying in Holmes Chapel. 

Harry brings everyone he knows to the appointment to find out that he's having a boy. Niall, surprisingly, is the only one to cry. 

Then, with the news of the sex comes the near constant baby name suggestions. All his friends suggest their own names, teasing him about how honoured they'd be to be the namesake. Harry thinks they're ridiculous and full of it. Trying to pick a name stresses him out, and stress makes him feel like throwing up (which is perfectly natural, apparently). He tries to not think about it as much as possible. 

All too soon, March is turning into April, and April is making way for May. With May comes an additional flurry of activity, every single person in his year working themselves up into a frenzy as examinations come closer. Harry still studies, even though he's not applying that year, wanting to get good enough grades so that he doesn't regret it when he does have time for school. 

Halfway through May, he also starts getting painful bruises on his calves. Everyone he asks tells him it's normal. Still hurts a lot. He gets his exams scheduled early, because by June 4th, he's going to be a lot busier. Sitting the tests suck; he waddles into school and tries to avoid the accusatory looks of his classmates around him, half of whom have suddenly refused to talk to him. He's known most of them for his entire life, so it'd had been a bit off-putting when he first started showing a few months previously and his friends started dropping like flies. Liam assured him that most of them were just surprised, and intimidated by his situation, but Harry could tell the difference between being nervous around someone, and laughing at them when their backs are turned.

Exams go okay. He's finished school by June. Finished school for awhile, at least. 

Baby is supposed to come by June 4th, and he's supposed to be able to attend his graduation ceremony without needing to have robes that bulge out at the front. Anne's got the spare room set up nicely, Gemma's old room that she stays in when she's home from school, a cute crib that Harry helped pick out from the store. It's the only new item in the room, the rest of the stuff either from when Harry and Gemma were babies, or from their various friends and neighbours dropping by with helpful second hand nappies and diaper bags. 

As it is, Harry attends his graduation ceremony before checking into the hospital. Ignores the stares of judgemental parents and their identical children, and lets himself feel proud of himself for graduating. As long as he had his secondary completed, he could figure the rest out. 

Louis' mum takes a group photo of all of the boys at the front of the school. Five beaming faces, gathered with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Eleanor and Perrie show up for the second photo, Niall, Liam and Harry standing to the side to let the couples have their photo. 

"So," Niall says, smile lighting up his face. "Exciting, eh?" 

"Off to uni, I guess," Liam says, distractedly staring at the crowd, waving to people he knows but doesn't care for saying a proper goodbye. Standing with Harry tends to ensure that people stay away. 

"I hope you all have loads of fun," Harry says sincerely, wringing his hands together. His ears feel warm, June sun shining down on them all with only the faintest hint of the ever-present lining of clouds in the sky. His stomach feels all wobbly, and he's going to miss everyone. He's sad that he had to let so many of his old friends go so soon before they say their goodbyes forever. He felt like they should have at least made the effort to be friends before they all went off to school. "Really. You need to do it all for me."

"Don't worry Haz, we will." Niall grins, smacking him on the back. Harry's going to miss him best, he thinks. 

Anne and Jay take the lot of them out for ice cream, and it's in the middle of the parlour, still holding onto his graduation cap that Harry goes into labour. Could be worse, he thought to himself, as he's rushed to the hospital. Could have been in the middle of the ceremony. 

The baby is born on Monday June 18, 2012. He's 7 pounds, 5 ounces, and he's got a full head of hair. Harry cries almost as much as the baby does, and so does everyone else in the room, visiting. 

The nurses put him down as "Baby Boy Styles", because even after the baby is there, laying in his arms, he's still not got a name for him. Before he throws a full on fit, Niall and Louis pull out their iPhones and google baby names for him. They spend the afternoon mulling over names, the baby in question snoozing happily in a tiny bed beside Harry. Anne and Robin stand guard beside him, Anne watching the baby with a look that sometimes looks soft and happy, and sometimes looks angry and nervous. But Anne has lectured him all that she could since November; Harry is 18 and he has a son that he loves that will have brown curls and a happy home. 

Harry decides on Ely (pronounced ee-lie, but spelt with an aggressive Y instead of I) and he makes his middle name Nicholas, because Nick is gone but it's still his son. Harry can see it from the shape of his jaw, the colour of his hair, just a slight more dull a brown. Figured that he'd never forget him anyways, that every time he looked at the baby he saw the man, and he may as well acknowledge it. Everyone seems a bit disappointed about it; none of them have their names used. Harry tells them that he'll name the baby after them next time they knock him up. Niall keels over laughing. 

He takes the baby home not long after, a tiny bundle of pink skin and light eyes, rarely ever crying except to complain about a colicky stomach, or a hungry one. Ely is the loveliest person Harry has ever laid eyes on, and he's known some lovely people. When Ely is sleeping, he can see himself in the baby, maybe a bit of Anne. He's got Harry's eyes, Nick's jaw, Gemma's nose, Des' ears, and the rest he chalks up to Nick's side of the family. He's a tiny piece of all of them, weaved together so intricately that he was all of them, but uniquely himself. He was Ely, and Harry loved him more than words could possibly describe. 

Summer goes by in a rush of warmth,bringing with it the chill rain of the fall. One by one, his friends go off to school, and then Holmes Chapel is dead.

Well, maybe not. The elderly still go on their mid-afternoon walks, school children still bustle around in the mornings make noise on the playgrounds. Adults keep driving off to work in the morning, spending time gossiping at the gas pumps with their fellow drivers.

But Harry's watched nearly all of his friends pack their bags and driven off to uni, off to apprenticeships, off to their post-secondary lives, and it leaves Holmes Chapel stripped and bare to him. He can't walk round the corner and visit Zayn, studying bio-chemistry in Manchester, and he can't pop down to Jesy's to find her, Eleanor, or any of the girls, because they're all spread out amongst the country. Perrie's actually gone to Paris. Zayn took her to the airport, and teared up when he returned without her.

Things are so drastically different, and Harry, Louis, and a handful of other students in his year are the only ones who hadn’t scattered.

Louis comes over a lot. He says his house is either too empty in the days when all his sisters are in school, or too full in the evenings, when there's 7 of them trying to live in a 3 bedroom and pretending like it's not bursting at the seams.

Harry's house isn't much more interesting. Harry fears he's becoming a bit of a recluse, always holed up in Ely's room, swaddling the baby in soft clothes and feeding him formula and burping him. It had been nerve wracking, at first, and Anne had handled a lot of the care in the first few weeks, but Harry soon became confident in holding his son, of making sure his neck was supported, of running his index finger down the bridge of his tiny nose to help him fall asleep. He moved from being terrified of touching him, to being terrified of anyone else touching him, holding the child close to his body, barely ever putting him down. Robin would joke that the baby wouldn't ever touch the ground until he was full grown. Harry just pursed his lips at that. He was protective, so what? No one could hold that against him.

Another reason he never took Ely out was what tended to happen when he did. He first noticed it a few weeks after Ely was born, when June was just turning to July, and his friends were still in town. Ely was less than a month old, and Harry carefully planned his outfit for the trip, so he was not too hot, and not too cold. He placed him delicately in the baby carriage only after slathering them both in sunscreen, and loading the diaper bag in diapers and bottles. He was almost too focused on making sure that Ely was 100% comfortable the entirety of the stroll that he almost didn't notice the looks that the people were giving him.

Holmes Chapel was not a big place, and Harry was acquainted with at least three quarters of the people who lived there. He knew their names, and they knew his; his mother had sent gift baskets with muffins to them when their relatives died and celebrated with them when they gave birth.

Harry had thought he'd known them all very well. But even he, a self-proclaimed optimist, could not mistake the sneering glances they gave to him and his sleeping baby in his carriage for anything but what it was. They were the same looks he'd gotten a few months earlier, when Harry would waddle down the streets after school, avoiding the accusatory glares of his classmates. He had hoped that once they could put an adorable baby's face to their mind whenever they were faced with the uncomfortable reality of his underage pregnancy, that they'd lower their pitchforks and not stare at him accusingly whenever they caught sight of him.

But no. Harry's life once again proved itself to not be a romantic comedy, and the people who were mean before, continued to be mean. He felt the heat rise on the back of his neck every time he went out in public now, feeling the weight of the eyes on him as they spoke amongst themselves about how _he wasn't even out of high school_ and _who even was the father_?

Harry had heard a lot of rumours about his promiscuity for the past few months. When he was still in school, he heard that he apparently would go to nearby towns to find men to fuck. Heard that he didn't know who the father was, because he'd been with so many people. Heard that Harry had tricked both Louis and Zayn into sleeping with him, and that Harry was trying to get with their guidance counsellor (a rumour that Harry had literally no idea where it came from). Now that he wasn't around as much, he didn't hear the rumours, but he still got the main idea. People thought he was a trashy slag, and that he had no business raising a child and that he was going to end up dumping him on Anne and would run off to party and do drugs.

Small wonder that Holmes Chapel was dead to him, because he was dead to it.

Ely grows exponentially everyday. Harry takes constant pictures of him, posts them all on Facebook and tweets funny ones to Niall. His profile pictures on every form of social media are of him and Ely. His Instagram was the only account he had that Nick had followed him on, so he makes a new one. Fills it completely, more than one picture a day.

When Ely is four months old, he starts to become a bit more independent. Harry cries one night after placing him on his tummy, and he actually turns himself over. Louis loves being witness to "Tummy Time", almost always placing small toys on Ely's back just to make Harry yell at him. Louis' fantastic with kids, he really is, and besides the occasional quirks that prove that Louis is a brother, not a father, Louis seemingly tries to fill in the cracks of a family that Harry and his parents alone cannot provide.

Harry worries that Ely's first word is going to be Lou. But, he supposes, even if it was, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Ely starts grabbing onto things around 5 months, snatching up everything that he can reach and sticking them in the mouth. Nearly swallowed Louis' sister's ring once that she'd dropped out of her pocket.

Ely is sweet, shy smiles for everyone. He thinks everything is funny-- from tummy time to the daily talking exercises. Harry loves him.

Harry loves him, but a baby is not enough for a 18 year old. He needs everything else-- needs companionship and fun and games that aren't educational and food that isn't pureed or in a bottle. Louis, again, is always good for a day out, or to take his mind off of the minuscule existence that his life has suddenly shrunk into, but Ely's all he can ever think of.

When Louis drags Harry out for a Halloween party in the next town over, Harry gets blindingly drunk. He pulls (or gets pulled, he doesn't know), and he gets his cock sucked instead of rocking his son to sleep. He wakes up the next morning in Louis' living room, unsure how they had gotten back to Holmes Chapel in the middle of the night. He has a phone number written in sharpie on his arm, and he looks a complete mess as he collects himself and makes his way home. The next night, he hears more rumours about himself. Lottie told her friends that her brother and Harry had gotten home late, and they tell their other friends, and they tell their other friends.

Harry is a laughing stock. It's wounding his pride, if he even had any in the first place.

Louis' birthday is quickly approaching, and Ely grows with gusto. He gets more sturdy, less likely to be broken, and soon he's flopping himself across the floor with his muscly baby arms and he's holding his head up with his muscly baby neck. With Louis' birthday comes Christmas, and with Christmas comes the return of all of his friends to Holmes Chapel for the holidays. Harry's been looking forward to seeing them since they left, and he's so excited he begs his mum to buy Ely a brand new Christmas outfit, complete with a reindeer shirt that lights up if it's been in the sun.

Everyone comes round to Harry's when they get back. Niall, red faced and cheerful, brown hair peeking out from beneath the bleach blonde, looking shaggy and wiry under his muscle tee (Harry is bemused, why would Niall wear so little clothing at the end of December? Must be a college thing. Niall's the European equivalent of an American frat boy). Liam's buzzed his hair again, did it after Sophia had broken up with him over Facebook messages, and Harry had heard all about that. Zayn looks more or less the same; his clothes look more stylish, and he looks as if he's lost a bit of weight, but he looks better than any of them, nonetheless. Harry's delighted to see them, and so is Ely.

"Jesus," Niall starts, darting in closer to Ely's baby bouncer. "Looks just like you, Haz." He reaches a finger out in the air in front of Ely, scratching at nothing and cooing "cootchie cootchie coo!" Ely's delighted by it, trying to grab onto Niall's finger, probably to stick it in his mouth.

Harry grins, pleased. He does think that Ely looks quite a bit like him, especially when he compares him to his old baby pictures. He can definitely still see Nick in Ely as well, but he grows more and more like Harry every day, and as he grows it hurts Harry less to see Nick in him.

In truth, Harry had considered calling Nick up countless times in the past year. He hadn't seen him in the flesh since November of 2011, and it was almost 2013 now. Hadn't gotten a text since his 18th birthday, when he hadn't replied. He'd been aware of Nick's birthday passing, wished the man a silent happy 22nd birthday, and moved on with his life. He'd had to. Harry simply didn't have the time or the energy to be weepy and sentimental over Nick. He had a son, and he had to be realistic now, and it was realistic to move on. So he had.

(Ignoring that one time, when Harry was drunk and gotten his cock sucked, and Harry imagined that it was Nick's lips around him. And that other time when he'd gone in to visit the radio station where Nick used to work, just to see if it felt the same there. And ignoring the time when Harry had flicked through the channels and Harry'd seen Nick with actual Alexa Chung sat on a sofa, and Harry had made note of the time it was on and the name of the show. Ignoring all the other times he'd tuned in, watching it away from the judgemental stare of Louis and his mom. Ignoring all of that.)

When Liam, Niall and Harry are sat in a semicircle around Ely, sitting upright and smashing a new dinosaur toy that palaeontology student Liam had brought him, Zayn and Louis sit on the couch together, heads tucked down as they talk quietly. Harry glances at them every few minutes, exchanging quick smiles and talking a mile a minute. After a while, Louis and Zayn stand up and say their goodbyes, going off into the snowy night together, still speaking in voices too quiet for Harry to hear properly.

It sends a small surge of panic throughout his body, to be perfectly honest. Louis had other friends besides Harry, and Harry was never going to begrudge him time away from the domesticity of Harry and a 7 month old baby, but he couldn't ignore the vibes Louis had been giving off as of late.

Louis had, essentially, cut off all contact with everyone but the Styles family. He had gotten a part time job at the gas station in town, and he went from work, to Harry's, to home every day, and he was bloody miserable about it. Louis had been talking about his gap year for years, and all of his stories included big adventures across the world, living in hostels and drinking with loads of interesting people. And what was he doing now? Sleeping on Harry's couch so he could change Ely's nappies in the middle of the night.

Harry could sense him getting frustrated with the entire situation, and it made Harry act defensively around the man. He had known what he was signing up for, hadn't he? Louis was choosing to stay here, wasn't he? Harry wasn't forcing him to stay. Louis didn't have to come back.

And it was a few days before Louis did come back. Eleanor came back the next day, and from all their tweets, Eleanor, Louis and Zayn were having a fucking riot together. Ely was coming down with a cold, and he kept mouthing "L" (he had trouble with the letter L), and he cried more than he usually did. When Louis walks in on his birthday, Ely shrieks in happiness. The man scoops the baby up, peppering his forehead with kisses. Harry watches from the couch, alone except for the two of them, eyes half hooded as he surveys them. Louis was held back a year, so this is his 19th birthday and he's got a light dusting of hair on his chin, and his eyes look brighter than they have for months.

"Are you back, then?" Harry asks, direct but trying to not sound accusatory.

"No," Louis replies, a moment later, still looking at Ely, playing with his soft little curls. "Not yet."

When Christmas passes and all of his friends clear out again, Louis goes with them. He's saved a bit of money, and he's gotten a bit from his mum, and he's going to go on his trip. It won't be as extraordinary as he once imagined; Louis is starting for a few days at Eleanor's uni, then going with her on a train to Paris, then he'll meet with Zayn in Amsterdam. The trip won't take very long, one month tops, and Harry helps him pack for it. Louis' vibrating with excitement, and Harry hopes when he comes back he'll be happy. Harry needs him more than he let on. 

When Louis leaves, he seems to take the warmth that was left in Holmes Chapel with him. Ely's cold turns into something worse, and Anne is worried that it's pneumonia. Harry stays up for hours, falling asleep on the floor of Ely's room, listening to the baby's rattling breath and uncomfortable crying. Harry feels hurt, and powerless, and he never wants to put the child down, and the days go by in a haze of doctor's visits, and a fear that is almost incapacitating. 

Ely's fever breaks two weeks after Louis leaves. Harry has dark purple bags under his eyes that he doesn't think he'll ever get enough sleep to vanquish, but his son is okay and that's all that matters to him.

It's a cold day at the end of January that Harry bundles himself up in his warmest clothes, and heads to the store to pick up some more of Ely's teething crackers. He's all in a flurry, and he sees in his rear view mirror that his pale skin is flushed from the cold. He's just pulling into the parking lot in Robin's SUV (he’d gotten his licence before Ely was even born) when he hears his phone chirping at him to answer. He parks in the closest spot, and he picks up the phone absently, not bothering to look at the caller ID because it's probably his mum.

"I'm at the store now, mum. I've only got enough for what Ely wants."

"Er," a male voice says, and Harry freezes in his seat. He recognized the voice. "It's not your mum."

Harry's breath is caught in his throat, and the hand not holding the phone to his ear is clenched tightly on the steering wheel. "Nick. I. What are you--," he stutters, and this is not how he'd imagined how he'd act next time he spoke to Nick. "Why are you calling?"

"I don't really know," he reveals, honestly. "I know that we're not really on terms, but I wanted to just. See how you were, and such. You at uni?"

Harry blinks, and tries his best to collect himself. He looks at himself in the mirror again, checking how he looks despite Nick not being able to see him. "I, uh, no. I took the year off. Still in Holmes Chapel."

"Ah, not an academic, Harry Styles. I know the feeling."

Harry feels stupid, and he wants to hang up the phone, but he knows that he won't. He's thought about Nick as little as possible for the past year and a half, and that's how he'd liked it. But he can't deny the part of him that feels like crying because he's so happy to hear from him again. With a voice that's only a bit wobbly, he says, "not that it mattered for you, eh? You're a big telly person now, right?"

Nick laughs, and it's not his genuine laugh, but it's still good to hear it. "I got lucky. Still waiting for them to give me the sack. Only a matter of time before I drive them all crazy. Chung's got a look to her like she's committed a double homicide, and she's not afraid to do it again." 

"Alexa Chung murders co-host Nick Grimshaw," Harry says out loud, weighing it in the air. It sounds ridiculous. "Guess I'll read about it in the Daily Mail."

"Will you come to my funeral? Drape yourself over my casket?" 

"Sorry. I don't do mourning."

Nick sucks in a breath, voice shaking with his real laugh. Harry grins at his steering wheel, but it pulls at his heart string, the time that has passed heavy in the air. The windows are getting all foggy. Harry misses Nick. 

"I miss you, Hazza." Nick says suddenly, and Harry thinks briefly that maybe Nick could read his mind. "Which is weird, isn't it? I only knew you for a couple of months. You'd think that I didn't know you well enough to miss you."

"No, I get it. I miss you too, sometimes."

"Sometimes."

"Yeah."

Nick sighs, and Harry sighs with him. There's a world in between them, even though he knows that it's not that far to London, knows that if he really wanted to he could see Nick again today. He could. But there's that world, the world that Ely is in and the one that Ely is solely occupying that Nick can't fit into. And no matter how much he can feel his heart beating in his chest, this isn't about Harry's desire to feel Nick's hands on his skin again, this isn't about Harry. 

"Anyways," Nick continues, voice sounding like he does on TV, and he's just making conversation. "Best let you get back to what you were doing. At the store for Ely, right?"

"Y-yeah," Harry stutters out, startled at Nick saying the name of their son. "He's---"

"Don't worry about it. Don't need to know who he is, do I?"

Harry realizes that Nick must think Ely is some guy in Harry's life. Technically, he is, but in a much different way than Nick is assuming. 

"Goodbye, Nick." Harry breathes, lips curled into an amused smile. "Glad you called. This was nice."

"Yeah, me too. Bye Haz."

Harry presses end on the call, and he sits in his step-dad's car, staring at the foggy window in front of him. He shivers, and he turns his phone on silent, and gets out of the car. He's flushed a bright pink, and it's not from the cold. 

// 

Louis does eventually come back, and when he does he doesn't come back relaxed and appeased. Harry had somehow gotten it into his head that Louis would come back and he'd rush back to him and Ely and tell him how he never wants to leave again. But Harry sometimes forgets that Louis is under no obligation to spend all his time with them, that he's helping Harry take care of Ely out of the kindness of his heart. 

And Louis does return, and he comes over as much as he did before, but it's like his trip has left Louis with an insatiable thirst for a more that Harry could not provide. He's restless and snippy, and he reminds Harry of an animal that has been pent up too long. And Harry turns 19, and he's considering asking his best friend to leave his life (because it's not fair to Ely, to let him love Louis only for him to inevitably leave), and it's just not how he ever imagined his life would be like. 

He starts watching Nick's show more frequently. Nick's full of shit, everyone he works with loves him, and it's obvious. Nick is so fresh, and so vibrant, and Harry's sure that he made the right choice when he didn't beg for Nick to stay. Nick's turning 23 this year, and he's got his entire life ahead of him. Doesn't need to be held back by a baby. 

Nick texts him on Valentine's Day. It's just a heart. Harry sends a heart in return. And a couple days before the start of March, Louis comes to him and tells him that he's going away again. This time, for longer. That he'd gotten a job in Manchester, and that him and Zayn are getting a flat because Zayn hates student housing and he's sorry and he'll come back and visit all the time and he'll miss him and Ely so much.

"Oh," Harry says, and that's all he can say. "Oh." 

And then Louis leaves, and Harry and Ely are really alone. Harry cries on Anne's shoulder one night, when he's put Ely down for the night, and Anne gently asked him, "well, what did you expect Harry? Did you think he'd stay forever?"

No, he didn't. But it still hurts, nonetheless.

Harry throws himself, once again, into caring for Ely. He's a really smart baby. Brilliant, actually. He's 10 months old now, and he's a proper person, just in miniature. He's onto eating solid foods, and he can crawl around like an absolute professional. One morning, Ely's actually able to hoist himself up against the side of a couch. Harry's delighted by it, clapping and crying out about what a strong boy Ely is, practically an old man. Encouraged by Harry's cooing, Ely takes an unsteady step forward, still assisted by the couch. He plops down onto his bum a second later, but the point is not lost. Ely is beginning to walk.

Harry delights in helping the child wobble around rooms from then on. He holds onto Ely's chubby baby hands, and standing, he guides him between his legs all over the house. Harry calls it Ely's hiking time. Anne and Robin are just as enthusiastic as Harry is; after it became clear months back that Harry wasn't just going to dump all the responsibility for Ely on them, they adjusted wonderfully to their new roles as grandparents. 

Ely's personality is also becoming more and more obvious. While he's got plenty of smiles for Harry, Anne, and Robin, he's shy and reserved around strangers. When the woman from round the corner came over for tea with Anne, Ely had fallen down on his bottom in surprise when they turned the corner and saw her sitting there. He's also gotten very needy, preferring being held to anything else, always whining a steady stream of "dadadadadada", and waving and hitting things to get Harry's attention. 

Harry takes Ely on a walk in the stroller on a warm day in March, on one of those rare sunny days. It's almost noon, so they don't run into many people, and Ely is talking a mile a minute. Harry passes by a group of elderly women who are sitting on a patio for lunch, and stare at him when he goes by. Harry thinks nothing of it, automatically assumes for the same reason that everyone else stares at him and Ely. But when he's hoisting a sleeping Ely out of his carriage after they get home for his nap, Harry realizes that they might have been staring at him for chatting back to Ely. Harry read online that encouraging your baby to talk is vital to their development, so every time Ely goes on in his unique language of baby talk, Harry finds himself replying.

"Oh really? Tell me more about that."

"What happened next?"

"That's so interesting!"

"Thank you for telling me that. Can you tell me how we find our way back home? I'm horribly lost."

Being a father had never occurred to him to be the best thing in the world. Before he had known he'd wanted kids, but he'd always imagined himself to have them when he was much older than he was now. To have settled down, to have lived a full life and to have been able to support his kids without leaning heavily on his parents. 

That part weighed on him a lot. Anne and Robin supported him entirely. And while they had always been well off and the added cost of Ely wasn't putting a strain on their financials, Harry still felt terrible. He was 19, for gods sake. He wanted to find some semblance of independence before he was 30 and still living with his parents. 

And as more time went by, the more Harry realized that independence wasn't that much of a stretch. He needed to get an education, maybe take night courses at uni, or maybe ones online. Find a school that can work around his schedule, and get a job. Find a friend or hire a nanny for Ely. Maybe he could wait until Ely started going to school, it was only a few years off. Go to school, get a job in something that would pay enough to pay the bills and keep him and Ely both in a safe enough neighbourhood. Maybe Manchester, if he played his cards right. Weren't many opportunities in Holmes Chapel, but there were plenty of cities that Harry could take Ely to. Not London, couldn't afford to live in London by himself if he tried.

But when it comes time to apply to universities, Harry finds himself applying all over the country, even though he can't feasibly make ends meet at this point. He tells himself that it's just a self-esteem thing, to see if he gets accepted to any schools. He doesn't need to accept the offers, just needs to see if he can make it. He applies for business, because business is something that he can see making a career out of one day. He doesn't tell his mum, just quietly applies and then moves on. 

He thinks its great personal progress for him, to even be considering uni. He remembers when he first found out he'd be having Ely seeing the entire thing as a death sentence. He knew that he'd love the baby, but he unconsciously and consciously regarded it as something that would be putting an effective end to his own life, ruining any dreams he might have had for the future. But now, he didn't. Ely was a gift he was given, and Ely's existence wasn't an inconvenience for him. He couldn't imagine living without him. Not anymore. 

It's with this train of thought that Harry finds himself walking home from the shops one day, arms full of groceries. He'd started doing all the cooking for the house, Anne only too happy to sit back and let someone else cook for a change. Harry turned the corner onto his street, humming along happily to a Coldplay song on his iPhone. It's nearing the end of April, the warmth of May peeking through the clouds, promising better weather. 

Harry's not paying any attention, has just walked up to his front door and started the little half juggle required to open a door when his arms are full of bags when a hand touches his shoulder. Harry jumps, the two bags in his right arm falling to the ground, and he whips around. 

Nearly drops the other bags. "What-- what are you doing here?"

Nick looks at him, tall and shiny and inexplicably in Holmes Chapel. He looks really good; he's abandoned the glasses he near always wore before, and he's wearing tight jeans and a blazer hanging loosely off of his shoulders, soft looking shirt underneath. His hair is different too, looks smoother, healthier, maybe, and it's styled up like Harry's seen him have on the telly. He looks good, really good, like success is agreeing with him. 

He also looks concerned. Harry rips the headphones out of his ears, and Nick tries for a smile, arms halfway reaching out to help Harry. "You okay? Guess I should have called first."

"Yeah, you should have." The initial shock at seeing Nick is quickly subsiding, and panic is taking it's place. Nick is here, in Holmes Chapel, on his doorstep, and their son is just inside, taking his nap. Harry sinks to his knees, starts scooping up the bags he's dropped. Harry can see a bag of nappies peeking out of one, and he snatches it under his arm because Nick is bending to help him. What the fuck is he meant to do?

"Sorry, was being stupid." Nick withdraws his hand, when it becomes clear that Harry doesn't need or want his help. "Wanted to see you again. You look, you look really good."

Harry does look good. He's wearing a nice sweater. He looks older than he did when he was 17, is broader and stronger and his skin is clear and his hair less greasy. Harry takes care of himself, and there's no hint of his baby fat, in both senses of the word. He preens a little at the compliment, but it only lasts for about half a second before he's swept back up by his alarm.

"Er, thank you. Did you come all the way here for me?" 

"Well," Nick bristles, slightly uncomfortably, and he looks like he wants to be invited inside. No chance of that happening. "Don't know many people in Holmes Chapel."

"Ah, well." Harry smiles, tight-lipped and tense. "Sorry you made the trip, I guess." Harry collects himself, raising his eyebrows and nodding almost imperceptibly to the front path. 

Nick's just opening his mouth to say something else when the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and the front door opens. It's Anne, and better yet it's Anne holding a rumpled, sleepy looking Ely in her arms, and she says something that Harry doesn't hear because all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. 

Ely reaches out for Harry, demanding and chirping a stream of "dadadada" with wiggly fingers, and Nick's looking from Harry to the baby with the colour drained from his face. It's Saturday April 20, 2013, and Ely is 11 months old and Nick meets Harry's son for the first time. 

//

Harry and Ely are late for the paediatrician. 

It's his fancy new paediatrician, the one in London that Harry has to make a three hour drive for. Since Ely's regular doctor had told them that Ely almost definitely had a hearing impairment, Nick's gone into overdrive trying to compensate for being absent for the majority of Ely's life (to no fault of his own). He gets Ely appointments with one of the fanciest paediatricians in London, and insists that he only be taken care of by the best, and dressed the best that a 1 1/2 year old can be dressed. 

It's almost New Years Eve 2013/2014, and Nick has gotten stupidly successful. Like, his own panel show successful. Like recognized on the street successful, photographs with fans and taken by the British paparazzi.

When Nick first started becoming involved with Ely, he'd had to talk it over with his publicist. Nick said it had just been a formality, but Harry was pretty sure that he was asking permission to be a father, and he wasn't even asking the right person (as in, he should have been asking Harry). 

As it is, Nick is as involved as he can be with a baby a couple hours away, and Harry is going to be late for Ely's paediatrician. 

When their new doctor, Dr. Mendozza had confirmed for them that the old doctor had been right and Ely had a partial hearing impairment, Nick and Harry had both been driven into a frenzy. Ely had only just turned 1, and now they were telling them that there was something seriously wrong with him that would affect him for the rest of his life? What were they supposed to do but be afraid? But it quickly became clear that when Dr. Mendozza said partial, she meant partial. Ely could still hear, could still communicate and would be able to communicate in the future. Ely's got conductive hearing loss, which means that it can be corrected by surgery, but that it can reoccur so they'll still have to be vigilant after. Ely can still hear when noises are loud enough, and they're not distorted at all like the doctor had been worried for. They also said that it probably wasn't a thing that he had been born with, but most likely a result of that sickness Ely had at the beginning of the year when Louis left for Manchester. Said that high fevers leave children vulnerable to the type of infection that caused this. Harry feels immensely guilty for not realizing that Ely was having hearing problems sooner, and he thinks that that is the only reason why he never makes a noise of complaint when he's on his three hour drives down to London to see the doctor. 

Not that driving to London with Ely isn't becoming standard to Harry now. Since Nick found out about the baby, the two of them have been back and forth between Holmes Chapel and London every other weekend. 

Nick was initially furious with Harry that he hadn't told him. In the doorway that afternoon, when Anne finally clued into what was going on, she quickly turned around, Ely still in her arms and sealed the door. Nick seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Is that-- is that your baby?" 

"Yes."

"Is that baby-- who is the father?"

"I am."

"Who is the other father?"

Harry hesitated, his arms full of groceries and conscious of his neighbours peeking out their windows. "You are."

Nick hadn't known what to do, which he told Harry, several times. Nick made for the road, like he was about to make a quick getaway back to London, then turned around again, and started pacing on the front porch. Harry watched him, wary eyes and ready to bolt to call 999 if Nick tried to throttle him, or maybe throttle himself. But he hadn't, he just paced, looking half crazed and bewildered. 

The confusion quickly turned to anger. Nick rounded on him, and he started shouting things like, "how could you not tell me" and "you should have let me know" "how do you have my fucking baby and keep me in the dark about it"? Harry is quiet during this, accepts Nick’s shouting as a natural reaction. A part of him had always known that Nick should have at least been informed, so as to make his own decisions on his life. 

Nick gets over it, though. He has to, what else is he going to do? Once the older man has calmed down, Harry invites him inside. Puts all the groceries in the kitchen, and finds Anne and Ely in Ely's room, the child sucking on a bottle of milk in the middle of the floor. Harry scoops him up, ignores Anne's confused questioning, gesturing for her to follow him down the stairs and rejoin a waiting Nick. 

It's a slightly awkward meeting, at least for Anne. Meeting the man who had knocked up her own baby, and then disappeared for awhile. Nick only gives her the briefest of greetings before he's leaning down to see Ely, looking sullen and shy in Harry's arms. 

"What's his name? Her name?" Nick croaks.

Harry smiles, not even knowing what the feeling in his gut was. He doesn't think it's quite happiness, but it's what he'd imagine resolution to feel like. "He. His name is Ely."

Nick's eyes flicker up to Harry's face, his mouth opening in a little "o" as his eyebrows shoot up in recognition. "Ely."

Ely squirms in Harry's arms in response to Nick reaching out to him, trying to move away from Nick's ring-clad fingers. Harry makes a half-apologetic shrug, a look that he hopes convey ‘sorry he's shy’. 

Ely warmed to him eventually- everyone warms to Nick- and things had gotten properly weird. Nick would come up and visit whenever he could, and he begged and pleaded for Harry and Ely to come to London whenever possible. Nick took to fatherhood like a fish takes to water-- he was really good with making Ely laugh, and he was really good at not seeming overbearing or like he was trying to replace Harry as Ely’s guardian. And Harry's phone was always beeping and buzzing now, from Nick himself, and from his considerable network of "close friends" (though Harry can't understand how he can call 24 different people his best friends). 

Harry meets a bunch of celebrity people. Alexa Chung, for one. Pixie Geldof. Jack Whitehall. Jack Guinness (Harry blushes through their entire meeting, but feels his face burn hot for a whole different reason when Jack greets Nick with a kiss on the cheek). Example is there, and so is Rita Ora and Cara Delevigne and Florence Welch and Harry can't believe that the guy he used to fuck was famous now (and that he's taking him along with him). 

And, of course, Nick is the guy he _used_ to fuck, past tense. The frequent trips to London were initially awkward and full of long pauses where Nick would hesitantly offer to sleep on the couch so Harry could have the bed. Nick's put in a nursery in his spare bedroom, a small room with french doors that open up into Nick's back garden. It was just a crib, at first, but every time Harry comes back to visit, there's more furniture and the decorations get more and more elaborate. The walls are a light sky blue, and the furniture is pale wood to match the light hardwood flooring. On the wall opposite the crib is a giant stencil of Ely's name in white. There's a stupidly large stuffed bear propped up in the corner, nearly as tall as Harry himself. A seagull mobile hangs from overhead, and the walls are lined with shelves laden in kid books and toys. 

It's a really beautiful room. Harry sleeps on the couch in the living room. He couldn't take Nick's bed. 

The doctor's office is only a few blocks away from Nick's, and Harry was planning on popping by after they were finished. It's really just a follow up, checking to see when Ely can be scheduled for surgery. Ely babbles in the backseat, kicking absently at the mirror Harry's got pinned to the bottom of the carseat so he can see Ely. Now that he knows what to look and listen for, he can tell that something is a bit off with Ely. He still reacts to things like loud noises, but it seems a bit delayed. And Harry used to think that Ely was just ignoring him like babies do when he didn't even look up at him when he was talking quietly, but now he realized that it was probably simply because Ely couldn't hear him. No matter. Ely would get his surgery and he'd hear just fine. 

There's scarcely any parking at the paediatrician's office and Harry has to carry Ely with a light jog, trying not to bustle the child any more than he needed to. Ely, instead of seeming annoyed by this rough treatment, was delighted, laughing with each slight jump Harry would make when climbing the stairs, or sidestepping a person. Ely's chubby little cheeks were pink from the cold of outside, but he was bundled up everywhere else but his cheeks. 

The appointment went fine, the doctor came in from lunch just as late as Harry did, and he clears Ely for it. Harry's getting nervous about his baby being put under the knife, especially when the doctor explains all the risks involved in surgery, but they haven't got much of a choice. Harry buckles Ely back into his carseat when they leave with pursed lips, heart hurting at the thought of bringing Ely in for what is essentially cosmetic surgery, and never taking him home again. However nervous he was, he had faith. The surgery would correct Ely’s hearing completely, and then they’d be fine.

When Harry carries Ely up to Nick's front door when they arrive, he seems to recognize it, because he starts squirming faster in Harry's arms. It's been a rough day, and Harry just wants some down time. 

Nick answers after a minute, looking surprised but happy to see them. Harry hadn't told Nick they were coming, wanted to prove to himself and everyone else that he could take Ely to the damn doctor without an escort, and Nick doesn't complain about being left out. Ely reaches for Nick, grabby little fingers grasping in the air, and Nick takes him. He starts taking off his outerwear. 

Harry sighs, taking off his own jacket. "Busy day. He didn't let me sleep last night. Kept wanting to be fed."

"Hm," Nick says, a smile growing on his face. He pokes at Ely's newly revealed belly. "Chunky little monkey. If you're anything like me, you'll be keeping your daddy up for lots of late night snacks."

"Don't give him any ideas, or I'm holding you responsible for any loss of sleep I experience." Harry yawns. "Can you watch him? Desperate need of a wee and a nap."

"Yeah, 'course." Nick doesn't look at Harry, too engrossed in Ely. He spins him around in the air, keeping a hand on the back of his head to support his neck, and Ely bursts into delighted laughter. "We'll have lots of fun, won't we? I was just going through some papers, you're a good distraction! Aren't you?"

Harry jogs to the bathroom, only now realizing that his bladder is quite full now that he's stopped paying 100% of his attention to his son. 

Harry looks around as he unzips himself. There's some baby shampoo in the bath, a couple of little toys for Ely to play with, mixed in with face creams and fancy hand soaps. Harry sighs, sighs for what feels like the 50th time that day, and takes care of himself.

Harry washes his hands, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he exits the bathroom to make his way towards the bedroom. He can hear Ely laughing about something in the next room, and Nick cheering. He smiles to himself, shutting the door behind him and throwing himself on top of Nick's bed. 

It's definitely different from the one Nick had in Holmes Chapel. Softer, fluffier. Harry felt as if he were sinking into the mattress, floating on top of feathers. If Nick had had this mattress in HC, Harry wouldn't have ever left in. Didn't want to leave it now. 

It would eventually be a problem, this business of kissing or not kissing Nick, Harry was sure. It was probably a problem already, but for as long as Nick was ignoring that it was happening, so would Harry. He assumed it would be a sort of slow thing, but Harry wasn't sure if they were slowly burning into something brighter, or if they were gradually rotting. Harry just knew that he wanted to kiss both of their faces, both Nick and Ely. It probably meant something, that he just assumed they’d end up together at some point. Harry tried very hard to work at things, day by day, and to not plan a future for himself around a person who might not stay there. But, there he was. 

It'd probably end awfully, he thinks to himself. Harry remembers being cross at Nick before he left, so long ago, and that they hadn't been good together in the sense that they were shit at communicating and they were both sneaky and passive aggressive. Nick had other boys in London, no doubt. Harry had his boy. It wouldn't work. And if he tried it, it'd probably end up with Harry and Nick hating each other, Nick demanding sole custody of Ely and getting it because Nick had a career and a future and Harry had nothing that his parents hadn't given him. And he couldn't lose Ely. He just couldn't. 

Harry feels sleep press at his eyes, but he keeps them open anyways. He doesn’t really believe that Nick would do that. He unlocks his phone, opens his browser and begins his daily routine of googling Nick. 

He's never told Nick that he does this. He's never told anyone. But since it's become clear that the child that Nick has suddenly been seen with lot is actually Nick's, Harry likes to stay updated about what, if anything, they say about them all. 

Harry's been vaguely careful not to be photographed with them. He's quiet and there really aren't that many paparazzi, so they can get away with it for the most part as long as they stay away from big events (which Harry wouldn't go to anyways). It’s not as if he’s got a particular aversion to being photographed; just figures that no one wants to see him anyway. Nick's publicist had confirmed for the public that yes, the child was Nick's, and yes, Nick was doing everything he could to stay in his life. And that's all they really needed.

Harry scrolled through the news results, yawning. There was a new picture that was actually from months ago, first time Ely had spent the night at Nick's without Harry being there. There was also a source claiming that he knew the identity of Ely's other father, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to it. Harry made sure to look at the name of the source. His name was Tyler. Harry wondered vaguely if it was the same Tyler that he used to get off with in secondary school. 

He locked his phone, put it down on the bedside table and sighed, again. Just as he's closing his eyes, he hears the phone vibrating with a text. Harry sits there, waiting for it to stop, but it buzzes again. He reaches over, eyes still closed, and snatches the phone. 

Harry doesn't notice that it's not his phone until he's unlocked it and looking at the messages. He and Nick both have white iPhone's. It's an easy mistake to make. 

_help grim ian's been looking @ engagement rings on his phone !!!_

_you are obligated to help me thru this because i listened to you whine for hours about how dreamy your baby daddy has gotten. come over._

Harry's eyebrows are way up, hidden behind his frazzled fringe. He considers replying, telling Aimee that Nick's watching the baby, but he thinks it's a bit awkward to be like, "hey, baby daddy here, nick's looking after our love child. sorry about your upcoming engagement."

He just locks the phone, hoping Nick doesn't have read receipts on, and puts it gently back on the table. Closes his eyes for real this time. 

He smiles at the ceiling. Nick thinks he's dreamy. 

//

2014 has really come obnoxiously fast. Harry turns 20 in Holmes Chapel, and he's bewildered about how at twenty whole years old, he's an uneducated father living with his parents. Nick insists on taking Harry and Ely to London the next day for a nice day out, and it is. It's nice. They go out for lunch at this cute restaurant that's not too snobby that they'd turn their noses up at a baby, but snobby enough to have the wine that Nick likes best. 

They go out around London, after. It's February, so it's obviously not the best weather for sight-seeing, but Harry enjoys it all the same. Ely sits happily in his stroller, bundled up and pointing wordlessly at everything. He'd gotten his surgery in early January, and he had recovered marvellously. He came home and adopted a more alert expression, like he could finally hear the world around him. Harry cried happy tears for ages. 

They meet a few people who want pictures with Nick, and they squeal over Ely. This is the first time that Harry's gone out publicly with Nick, and Harry feels okay about it. Doesn't mind being in their photos, doesn't mind being seen. 

After riding the London Eye, Harry and Nick and Ely meet up with a couple of Nick's friends. They're all ones Harry hasn't met yet, involved in fashion, but they're remarkably easy to get along with. Harry finds himself chatting easily with them, which hasn't really happened outside Nick since his own friends last visited HC. He gets their numbers, a guy named Colin and a woman named Patrice. Promises to have drinks with them, even though he's a few years younger and they all can tell. 

They're a bit full from lunch, so after they say their good byes to Colin and Patrice, the little family goes back to Nick's flat. Ely needs a nap, so Harry puts him down while Nick sets them up at the TV, making popcorn and tea (an odd combination, but Harry always insisted). Harry comes back to the living room with blinds drawn, lights dimmed, Love Actually paused on the screen and Nick waiting with a smile and a warm cuppa. 

Harry throws himself onto the couch, laying horizontal with his feet on Nick's lap. When Nick looks at him sourly, Harry shrugs. "It's my birthday." Nick rolls his eyes, and presses play. 

Harry has a hard time paying attention to the movie. He can't stop thinking about how nice this all is, how nice it is for Nick to be there and to offer them up everything he has and expecting nothing in return. It's nice, and Harry is grateful, and Harry fancies Nick quite a bit. 

They get to the bit with the porn stand ins, simulating sex and Harry withdraws his legs from Nick's lap to cross his own. He's getting an uncomfortable semi, with the combination of the sex on screen and the man beside him. 

Nick doesn't seem to be having the same problem. Nick scratches his cheek, sees Harry looking at him, and smiles again. His eyes dart down to Harry's crossed legs, and back to the screen, and his smile grows wider. "You having a nice birthday, Princess?"

The word Princess knocks around in his head for a moment, reverberating in what feels like his suddenly empty skull. He can feel himself reacting to it, his pants growing tighter, and he doesn't know if Nick meant to make Harry want to jump him or not. 

Because Harry wants to jump him. Wants to shove his tongue down his throat, and get his cock sucked and get fucked. It's his birthday. Deserves some sexy touching.

But he pauses for a moment, blinking his eyes. Nick's watching him, watching to see what his reaction is. And no matter how much Harry wants to slide onto his lap, his arousal is gradually clouded by a sense of outrage that Nick most likely knew what he meant (because how could he not), and now he expected Harry to throw himself at him.

He feels his body tense, jaw clenching. "I'm not 17 anymore. You can't just... I won't just..."

"Oh, god." And Nick does a really good job of looking surprised, then repentant. He tells Harry that he hadn't meant what Harry thought, almost says that he hadn't even remembered that's what he used to call him when they were fucking each other. Nick blushes apologetically, but Harry's too accustomed to watching him talk that he knows when he's sprouting bullshit. 

Harry purses his lips, and turns back to the television. His semi will eventually go down. Ely is sleeping just in the next room, probably will be awake within the hour. They wouldn't have time, even if he really wanted to. 

They watch about a half an hour more of the movie when Ely starts stirring. "I'll get him," Nick blurts out, rushing off the couch. They hadn't said a word since Nick apologized, and Harry felt exasperated that Nick decided that his birthday would be the perfect day to ruin. 

But when Nick turned around the corner with a sweaty and sleep mussed Ely, Harry could feel his irritation melt away, as it always did. Harry could look at Nick and feel something, but it was incomprehensible and paled in comparison to the way his heart threw itself out of his chest when he saw his son. Everything paled in comparison to Ely. He'd never love anyone more than he'd love that baby. 

"Daddy," Ely says groggily, reaching for Harry. He's still not the best at talking, but he's only a year and a half. 19 months. He'll get there. 

Harry smiles at him, any traces of his irritation gone as he stands to take the child. Nick passes Ely to him carefully, and Harry can feel Nick's eyes on his face. Their hands touch while Harry takes him, but it's the easiest thing in the world for Harry to completely ignore. 

"Did you have a good nap, baby?" Harry coos, as Ely buries his face in Harry's neck. Ely is a great hugger, was born for cuddling. Nick moves to the kitchen, probably to heat up a bottle of milk for him. Harry is appreciative, but Harry's not fucking Nick for being a decent father. Can't just give it up because Nick's nice to their kid. 

//

The rest of his birthday goes a lot better. Nick has some of his friends over, the ones who Harry likes and has spoken to enough that he also considers them friends. There's a cake, one that Ely almost has a tiny bite of before Pixie tells him that there's rum in it. Aimee's going to watch Ely for them tonight so Harry and Nick can go out and get properly wasted, without worrying about a babysitter. 

Harry doesn't have very much party, or fancy clothes. His entire wardrobe consists of t-shirts and skinny jeans, maybe a nice sweater thrown into the mix for the winter. Nick assures Harry that his usual casual Friday look won't get him into any clubs, so Nick lends him something to wear. Nick says the shirt was lent to him by Henry, and he believes it. It's mesh and shimmery and you can see right through it. Nick also gives him a pair of grey skinnies that are actually jeggings, and don't press into his belly as much as the denim ones do. And it’s his birthday and he deserves to wear jeggings. Harry styles his hair carefully, abandoning his usual "I have a baby and 6 hours sleep a night" fringe, pushing it back and keeping it up. It makes him look older, he thinks. Shows off his cheekbones, his jawline. Harry licks his lips, then goes to join the party waiting for him.

They all hoot and holler over him, Gelz twirling a nice scarf around his neck. Harry and Nick kiss Ely on the head, and say good bye to Aimee. Harry's nervous, but excited, if he were honest. He hadn’t been clubbing since he was 16 and he’d snuck into a club in Manchester with Louis and Zayn (and they had barely gotten in then, probably wouldn’t have if Zayn hadn’t been just broody enough with a cigarette held demurely between his fingers that they wanted him in there no matter what). He didn't know what he could expect, especially since he knew he had to be back to Nick's in just a few hours, and that he couldn't go home with anyone else. Also probably be rude to bring someone to get off with to Nick's. 

Nonetheless, he's excited as they're waved in at a really exclusive looking club. He's with cool, older people who have cool lives and have lots of money and they're all paying for his drinks. They fan out amongst the club, Nick the very first at the bar, because things are still a bit awkward between the two of them. 

No matter, Harry's got people looking at him only moments after he's gotten there, sly looks from mostly girls who want him to go up to them, and from boys who want to go up to him. 

Harry grins at them all, Alexa slipping a drink into his hand, and he downs it. It's going to be a good night.

//

It's at the third club they go to that a really good looking guy walks up to him, asking to buy him a drink. Harry, who at this point is already quite a bit wasted, giggles prettily and nods. His name is Max, and he's tall and broad and strong and he tugs Harry to a corner of the room with one large hand on his wrist. He's got tattoos snaking down his muscular biceps, and he looks like he wants to take Harry apart.

They dance to one song together, a quick, bass-heavy remix where Max grinds on Harry's ass, his warm hands on his hips. Harry's sweaty and drunk, and he can feel his cock thickening in his borrowed pants. 

"Want you," Max groans in his ear as the song finishes. Harry clutches onto the top of Max's shirt with clumsy hands, pressing his mouth along the line of Max's jaw, and up to his lips. 

It's filthy, and he doesn't think of anything as Max licks into his mouth tasting of sweat and bitter cologne, nothing except getting away from the eyes of the crowd, and having someone touch him for the first time in a very long time. 

They slip away, heading towards the bathrooms, which are full. "I live close by," Max suggests, and Harry nods. He follows him out, without even checking in with any of his friends.

They've walked for five minutes and turned into a wide alley when Harry remembers that he can't go home with him. He groans, and tells Max, tells him that he can't, and Max pulls them onto a closed restaurant's back patio. It's well lit and it's not cold on the patio, warmth from the next door curry restaurant pooling into the back so that February feels as warm as August. 

Max sinks to his knees, takes Harry's cock out of his pants, and puts it in his mouth. Harry almost cries, it feels so good, and Max is good at giving head. Harry keeps looking around, a bit nervous that someone will see them, but no one comes by. Max blows him until he's coming, coming with an embarrassing shout down the man's throat, who swallows it and stands up to kiss Harry. He tastes himself on Max's tongue, and Harry feels weak and his knees feel wobbly. 

He's just about to get on his knees to reciprocate when Max stops him, hands tight on his shoulders. "No," he murmurs, voice quiet under the sounds of London around them. "Want to fuck you."

"Oh," says Harry, and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was surprised. Max turns him around, pushing him against one of the empty patio tables, and pulls Harry's pants down the rest of the way. He's struck again with how filthy and dirty this all was, that anyone could just look out their window and see them. Harry's dick is soft, and he still feels relaxed from his orgasm, but the surprise of the stretch he feels from a hastily lubricated finger makes him tense at first. 

Max goes too fast, pushes in a second finger before he's quite finished with the first, and Harry wants to plead with him to go slower but he takes it because any pain is quickly followed by pleasure. He wants Max to fuck him, wants Max to fuck him here where anyone can see. He tells him this, says, "just get your cock in me," and Max's fingers speed up even faster. 

Before Harry could say that he's completely stretched and ready, Max withdraws his fingers and sucks in a breath. Harry always liked this part, where they're quiet and Harry waits and even though he can't see him he knows that Max is getting ready to begin pushing in. Harry grips the table, taking a few deep breaths, and prepares for it. 

But when Max starts pushing in, Harry blinks in confusion. "Aren't you wearing a condom?" He asks, because he can feel the difference, can feel the naked dick at the threshold of his rim. It's lubed up, but he's definitely not wearing one. 

“No baby,” Max coos, breath coming tightly in his chest. "Don't worry, it's fine. I'm clean."

Max moves to continue, to push in further, but Harry straightens up as best as he can, making himself inaccessible to the man. He turns his head, eyebrows raised. “No baby,” he says, and he means it semi-mockingly, semi-reassuringly, and he can’t tell which of those sentiments he wants to come across more. “I’m not fucking you without one.”

Max looks back at him, eyes dark and looking torn. But when there’s a choice between having sex with a condom, and not having sex at all, the decision is fairly obvious. Max darts forward, presses a kiss to Harry’s lips, which takes him by surprise. Mumbles something that Harry can’t quite hear, sounds a bit like “you’re hot when you’re serious.”

Max fishes something from the back pocket of his jeans, reveals a shiny silver package. Harry watches as he rips it open, watches as he rolls it onto his slicked, red looking cock. Harry reaches to the side of the table, grabs at the bottle of lube that Max had used and discarded to prep him earlier, and Harry squirts it out onto the palm of his hand. Max looks questioningly at him, but then groans when Harry starts lubing him up himself. 

“There you go,” Harry says, smiling quickly, feeling his arousal that had previously subsided swell up again. “Cool.”

Max grins back at him, and he doesn’t wait while he spins Harry back around and leans him over the table. Max pushes in, and Harry can't talk anymore because his mouth is open wide and gasping. Max is thick, and in all honesty too thick for the little prep he did, and Harry feels as if he's splitting in two. He's also not slow, pushing himself in quicker than he should be, filling him to the hilt before Harry's even adjusted to the tip.

It hurts, it really fucking hurts, but once he's in, Max doesn't move again. Harry doesn't think he's got any dastardly intentions, that he wants to hurt him, just that he's probably not got much experience with how to properly fuck someone. 

"Are you okay?" He asks, and he's mouth is right in Harry's ear, leaning over the length of his back.

"Yeah," he grunts, all thoughts about the condom wiped from his brain. His own dick is getting whiplash from how often he’s gotten hard and soft again in the last few minutes. “Just, just give me a minute."

And Max does. He waits, waits for the pain in Harry's rear to subside, waits for the sharp, stinging burn to fade and be replaced by only the stretch. It starts to go away, and Harry moves his hips experimentally, trying to adjust the dick in him, and Max mistakes it for an okay to move. He starts to pull out, and they should have probably used more lube, but it's okay, it's not as bad as it had been, and Harry can handle it as Max withdraws his dick, and snaps it back in. He picks up speed, the table beneath them creaking under their weight and their rocking, and Harry's eyes roll into the back of his head once Max reaches a rhythm that makes him feel good. 

"Oh yeah," Max pants, hands gripping tightly onto Harry's hips to keep him in place as he fucks into him. "So good, so tight. Little fucking slut."

Harry bristles, objecting to being called that. "No," he breathes. "Call me, call me Princess."

"Princess?" Max asks, sounding surprised. "Okay, Princess. Little fucking Princess."

With Max's cock pounding into him, while whispering Princess into the air, Harry quickly feels his own dick getting hard again. He's bumping against the table, head rubbing against his stomach. All he can hear is the cars on the street just on the other side of the restaurant, and the snapping of Max's hips against his bum. 

Max speeds up, and his hands reach up to his face, one hand tugging Harry's head back by his hair, the other pressing into his mouth. Harry's into it, likes his hair being pulled, and he licks at the fingers that are offered. 

It's good, it's so good, and Max suddenly pulls the hand out of Harry's mouth and reaches around him for his cock, and Harry comes the moment his thumb brushes his head, arousal coalescing in his groin. He comes all over the patio, and he's drunk still but he's got the sense to feel sorry for the restaurant owners who are going to find their patio covered in come. Max thrusts once, then twice, then comes, deep inside of him and the condom, pulsing and yelling. Harry feels rough, the heat of his orgasm dying down, and sobriety sneaking back in. A misplaced sense of shame washes over him, and he doesn’t want to turn around to face Max suddenly, who is so much a stranger to him. What would his mother think?

Max has pulled out, and he's discarding the condom, pulling his pants back on and tucking himself back inside. Harry follows suit, his face burning and they're both very quiet. 

"So, thanks." Max tries. "This was great."

"Yeah," Harry says, not really hearing what he's saying. "Wicked.”

//

Harry finds his way back to the club, back to where Nick has just started getting worried about him, and he tells him so. 

“I’m alright,” Harry assures him, putting on a bit of a slur, hoping that Nick can just take him back to their place without giving him the third degree if he thinks Harry’s just wasted. He feels a bit hollow inside, a bit like his insides have been scrambled around and scooped out. He wants to go to sleep, wants to curl up on Nick’s couch and then take his son and go back to Holmes Chapel where nothing like this could ever happen to him. Where everything was warm and familiar even if it was not the most friendly environment. 

In the cab, Harry thinks back to when he had applied for school in London, and he thinks back to how he had been accepted. He thinks back to how difficult it had been for him to decline the offer, only made easier by the noises of Ely playing with his toy drums in the next room. It had been simple enough to just put the whole thing out of his mind, to avoid thinking about building a sustainable future when he could just keep his head down and think about the present moment with his son. But here, it was hard to ignore it. London was sprawling all around him, tugging at him in every different direction. He could get into school again, Harry knew that he could. He could get into school, and he could live with Nick, at least for a little while, if Nick was okay with it. If not, he could find a roommate somewhere, could get a job, could work part-time and take his courses online. He could do it. Harry snorted to himself in the cab, making Nick give him a funny look. He could find some rich older man, probably, who would fund his life. He could do it. He was good looking.

Here, the choices that were displayed before him didn’t seem so unachievable. He thinks back to Louis, who had stayed into Holmes Chapel until he finally had enough, and Harry thinks that he feels much the same way. Back home, a life outside home didn’t even seem like a possibility. 

“What if I moved here?” Harry asked, and the cab is just pulling up to Nick’s flat. 

Nick pays the fare, and they get out of the car before he replies. “We’d save on petrol,” he says, and he doesn’t sound like he feels anything for it; just sounds sloppy and half-drunk. Harry doesn’t bring it up again that night; they’re both tired and Harry just wants to check on Ely and then collapse into bed. The next morning, he’d pop down to the pharmacy, and he’d pick up something to take care of himself, to take care of the spot of unprotected sex he’d had. Nick is watching Ely at home, and Harry’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment to get him tested, while he’s at it. He wouldn’t be able to fully feel safe and comfortable with Ely, or anyone else, for that matter, until he knew that he hadn’t picked something up somewhere. 

And then he’d pack up his and Ely’s things, and he’d get into his step-dad’s car, and he’d drive home. Ely cries, upset about leaving Nick, and when they get home Ely keeps telling Anne about London. Harry knows that something has to be done.

//

Harry is nervous.

Colin is walking beside him, talking rapidly on a cell phone in abbreviations that Harry can’t quite understand. It’s hot, the heat of early September beating down on their heads as they walk into the building where Harry’s about to do his first job. 

Harry had left Ely back at Nick’s, the toddler cheerily licking on an ice pop when he left him. His second birthday had came and went, all of Harry’s friends flocking back to celebrate with them. Perrie and Zayn were engaged. Louis had slunk in, looking guilty as hell, until Harry pulled him into the biggest hug that he could muster, and kissed him on the forehead. Harry didn’t hold it against him. He now knew what it was like to be bursting out of your home town. 

Ely’s second birthday, beyond that, was hugely eventful. Nick turned up with Aimee even after Louis did, and Harry wished that he had been recording it because the look on Louis’ face was an experience that he’d like to relive. His eyes looked as if they were bursting out from his skull, and he had looked from Nick, to Harry, back to Nick, then back to Harry, wordless and gaping. Harry raised his eyebrows at him, barely containing his grin despite the fact that Louis being blindsided like this was entirely due to Harry refusing to tell Louis about Nick since he had gone. Louis would call, and text, and skype, and Facetime (so Ely wouldn’t forget him, Louis said), but not once in the months that passed did Harry mention that he and Nick had reconciled, albeit a bit awkwardly. 

And it was a bit awkward, if Harry were honest. Since Nick had hit on him and Harry completely turned him down, Nick had been almost aggressively ignoring that anything had happened. He’d chat and joke and play around with Harry, but it was with a forced lightheartedness. Harry worried about it sometimes, when he was making up the futon that Nick had bought specifically for him, that Nick would get angry with him or that he would make things even more weird. He didn’t want Nick to be under the impression that Harry would jump back into his arms if Nick was a decent person who took interest in their son’s life, but he also didn’t want Nick to get fed up and not let Harry sleep in his living room.

That had been June, and that was around when Colin had finally gotten back to him. He had been calling Colin and Patrice regularly in May, but when they had promised him that they would try and find something for him, Harry had reached a wall of radio silence. He had felt like a failure, and was really worrying about having to spend another year at home, when Colin had, three weeks later, called him back. 

Which had led to Harry going to London in June, leaving Ely alone at Nick’s for the day. Harry met with some people, who looked him over, and then sent him to some other people, who looked him over even more. Colin was there with him the whole time, making exasperated noises and gesturing for them to hurry it up. Harry felt strange, didn’t know quite what to do but just stand there. 

He eventually got to another room, where some professional looking people in professional looking, but effortlessly fashionable suits were waiting for him with a contract. He would be working with a PT who would help him with his posture, but otherwise he got it. He was signed. 

He was a “model”.

But just because he was a model, didn’t mean that it meant anything. His posture was off. He had to work on his walk. He kept breaking out at the most inopportune times. But at least it wasn’t as if modelling was his one true passion in life. He wanted to do a bit of modelling here and there, raise enough money to support himself and Ely. He got booked for one job, for a really local, very tiny London men’s clothing store, one that paid him less than 100 pounds and he was on top of the world. But after that, nothing.

It was disappointing, but really what he had expected realistically in modelling. Nick assured him over and over again that fashion was a cutthroat business, and that Harry couldn’t have thought that he’d immediately be walking in London Fashion Week. He’d thought, that since he’d been introduced to so many people, that maybe that would have a difference. That Cara Delevigne would invite him and Nick over for a party, and he’d meet Karl who would make him the face of his line. But it becomes clear to Harry, as time passes, that it doesn’t matter if he’s had brunch with Kate Moss, in terms of getting booked. Having brunch with Kate Moss only got you papped. 

And he was being photographed. Between Nick, and Nick’s wide web of glitzy and glamorous pals, Harry was in the papers quite a lot, but only as the person in the background of close ups of Alexa or whoever else they’re with. His name is printed, and he knows that his mum had cut out the clipping and put it in her scrapbook. Harry, however, is bewildered by his incorporation in the entire thing, as he’s only in London for half of his time, and he almost never goes out to wild parties. He’s too busy watching Dora with Ely, or colouring (which Ely is atrocious at, but they’re working on it), or playing with cars or taking him to the park and even to Wiggles on Ice. More often than not, he’s walking around London with a baby stroller and play dough in his hair. He doesn’t know how he’s somehow supposed to be a member of the notorious London Clique, which Nick is apparently the “leader” of, according to the papers. 

But, he can’t complain. The papers gave him the opportunity that he had now, which was walking with Colin on the way to _actual Burberry_. For an _actual shoot._ With _Burberry._ Nick has filming for the day, so Ely was at Nick’s with a sitter, and Harry is about to model for _Burberry._ He’s got a tiny, carefully folded piece of paper in his back pocket next to his keys and his wallet, a small picture that Ely had drawn with a blue pen the last time Harry had taken Ely to the doctor’s office. There were plenty of toys around, but most of the cool looking ones were already surrounded by snotty-faced toddlers in expensive sweaters covered in drool and milk stains. Ely’s still shy, and he won’t venture away from Harry, standing in between his knees and making sad noises that meant “please pick me up daddy”. 

“Words, please,” Harry had leaned down and murmured to him, watching Nick from across the room, chatting with the nurse behind reception. The nurse loved the show, from what Harry had gathered when they had checked in, and Nick was lingering to talk to him long enough that Harry’s guard was going up. He didn’t have any right to be jealous, he reminded himself, brushing Ely’s short silky curls behind his ears. He and Nick weren’t a thing. Nick could talk to as many male nurses as he wanted, because Harry didn’t have any claim on him.

Ely _did_ have a claim on the man, another part of Harry reminded him. Nick couldn’t just go chasing after cute nurses all the time. Nick had a baby to watch. An example to make. Et cetera. 

Harry’s just on the verge of standing up to walk over and remind Nick of his fatherly duty when Ely’s sad noises turn into full out sad crying. Harry hoists the toddler up, despite Ely not asking with his words, and Harry presses a kiss to his forehead. He smells like the cinnamon bun that Nick had let him have for lunch, and like the pear-scented baby shampoo that Nick had picked up at the rest stop between Holmes Chapel and London. 

Ely looks up at him, trembling lips and big green eyes, lined with long pretty eyelashes that are unmistakably Nick’s. It used to be easier to spot Nick in Ely, but as the toddler grew he grew more and more in Harry’s image. His skin is clear, unfreckled, and as pale as Harry is whenever he doesn’t get any sun. His hair is just like Harry’s is now; he’d skipped the blonde Harry’d had as a baby, and gone straight for brown curls. If they got too long, which they were a bit now, they’d curl up into ringlets at the nape of his neck. He’s a good size and weight for his age, and he’s only a bit pigeon-toed. Now all that’s left of Nick is his eyelashes, and what is promising to become a very defined jawline, but that could really come from either of them. 

“What you want, big guy?” Harry asks him, touching his cheek soothingly, and Ely’s whimpering has stopped. 

“Colours?” Ely whispers, barely audible over the bustle of the waiting room.

“You want to colour? Okay.” Harry reaches down to the diaper bag he’d shoved under his chair, unzipping it with one hand with finesse only a lot of practice with juggling a baby and a bag could have granted him. He finds a scrap of paper, an old receipt for some juice that Harry doesn’t remember buying, but there’s no crayons or markers in the bag. 

Harry looks up, looks across the room to the front desk. “Nick,” he hisses, loudly enough that Nick and half the parents in the room look at him. Harry ignores the rest of them, miming with his hand that he was writing something. Nick looks confused, but realization quickly dawns on his face, and he turns back to the nurse and asks for something. Harry nods, satisfied, getting what he wants for Ely and getting Nick to pay attention to them again. 

Nick walks over to them, twirling a blue biro in his hand. Harry raises his eyebrows, because pens are sharp and you’re not supposed to give babies sharp objects. Nick can’t have missed Harry’s skepticism, and when he reaches Harry and Ely he moves down to crouch in front of them, face level with Ely sat on Harry’s lap.

“Hi Ely. This is a pen. You’ve got to be very careful with it. Don’t put it in your mouth, and don’t challenge any of the other kids to a sword fight. You could take out an eye with it.”

“Nick,” Harry chastises him, and Nick ignores him except for an amused smile. 

Ely is grabbing for the pen, but Nick holds it right out of his reach. “Ah ah ah,” Nick says, adopting his Stern Father voice, which doesn’t sound very stern but it’s as serious a voice as Nick can manage. “What do we say?”

“Please?” Ely offers, louder than he had been talking before. Nick always brings out something different in Ely, something that Harry both adores and is wildly jealous of. Ely is soft, quiet, and seemingly self-conscious when it’s just him and Harry in a crowd. But whenever Nick joins in with them, Ely forgets that they might be surrounded by other people, and starts to come out of his shell a little. Harry hadn’t even known that this side of Ely had existed before Nick was introduced into his life; it was a phenomenon that was unique to Nick’s socializations with the toddler. Harry was happy to see it, but a little sad that he wouldn’t be that way with just him. Nick said it was because he babied him a bit too much. Whenever Nick says this, Harry tells him to fuck off.

“Good manners, here you go.” Nick beams, passing him the pen. Ely takes it greedily, staring at the pointy end then sliding off Harry’s lap to move to the table right beside him. Harry places the receipt in front of him, blank side up, and Ely gets right to work.

He holds the pen like he’s wielding a weapon, and the drawing ends up being nothing more than a bunch of squiggles. But Nick sits down on the other side of the table, and Ely chats happily while he draws, explaining to them exactly what he was drawing. 

(It’s a picture of Ely and his Daddy, and his other Daddy, and they’re playing in the water. Where Ely got the idea of them being in the water together, Harry has no idea. He hasn’t taken him swimming ever, nor have they really ever gone to see any large bodies of water. Harry chalks it up to the wonder of children.) 

Nick and Harry watch Ely draw, sitting near the other with their son in between. Harry looks up and notices that Nick’s looking at him, and when they make eye contact Nick smiles. Harry smiles back at him, and they just smile quietly at each other, half listening to Ely talking about the colouring he does with Anne, half not paying attention to anything. Another kid in the room starts crying, and her mother shouts at her to be quiet. Nick wiggles his eyebrows in the air, nearly laughing at the bit of silence that surrounds the room after she’s finished her yelling. It’s inexplicable, but Harry almost laughs as well, and Ely passes Harry the drawing and passes Nick the pen just as the nurse that Nick was talking to before calls out that it’s Ely’s turn. 

(The appointment goes well. Ely’s hearing has been fully repaired, and it’s stayed that way.)

Harry places the picture cautiously in his wallet when he’s changing out of his clothing, stripping down to be dressed for the shoot. He doesn’t have time to look at it, with how everyone seems to be rushing him, but he’s comforted just knowing that it’s there. 

The building they’re shooting in is air conditioned to the point that it’s a bit too cold, and Harry’s standing there half-naked for at least 20 minutes while he’s waiting to be dressed in black trousers and a matching black knit sweater. He’s also a bit bewildered when he’s in makeup, because they’re giving him dark under eyes and if they wanted him to look as if he hadn’t slept the should have just told him to not sleep. After makeup, he’s sent out again to wait in a large room with high ceilings and white walls. There’s lots of other people here, lots of other models as well, and no one really pays him any attention. He’d expected it; Colin had stayed long enough to bully the woman standing in the front room with the clipboard, making sure that she knows who Harry is. When he’s finally put in front of the camera, nothing is taken of him on his own, every picture with at least one other model, half a dozen men with dark eyes and carefully mussed hair. It’s loud, and people are talking everywhere, but no one is talking to him unless it is to tell him to move forward, or backwards, or to twist his arm and puff out his lips.

He sees a few of the pictures they’ve taken of him when he’s on his way back to return his clothes. He looks weird; too pale, too spindly, and they all look sort of the same. They all look somewhat ill, but the pictures look good. 

When Harry returns back to Nick’s, the man himself is seated cross-legged on the middle of the sitting room floor. Ely is sat on his lap, and they’re looking at something on Nick’s phone. Harry doesn’t worry about it, Ely’s going through this thing with cameras now that he fully understands that it’s him on them. Ely’s a bit of a showoff when he’s around people he knows, ordering Harry or Nick to take a picture of him whenever he gets dressed in the morning, and then demanding to look at the picture. Harry can hear a video playing on Nick’s phone, and Harry assumes that Ely’s been hijacking his phone to make videos.

“Hello,” Harry offers when he walks in, running a hand through his stiff hair. He’s got too much product in it to make it stay artfully dishevelled, and he really just wants to take a shower. “Thought you had filming?”

“I did,” Nick replies, not looking up, and Ely shushes him. Nick continues on anyways. “Finished early. Thought I should get as much time in with this little guy as possible before you all leave me. Was going to take him out for drinks with Aimee, figured you’d probably have a bit of a problem with the day drinking.”

Harry laughs, dry. “Yes, that’s what I have the problem with. Take him out for drinks at any other time, day drinking is just a bit weird for me.”

Nick grins, still watching his phone. “See? I’ve got you all figured out, Styles. C’mere, look at what your son did today.”

Harry crosses the room, having pushed off his shoes at the doorway, the thin cardigan that Alexa had gotten him for his birthday falling off his shoulders. He leans down, craning his neck to see exactly what Nick’s got on his phone.

It’s Ely (of course), and he’s sitting in the bathroom on his potty chair with his pants pushed down. He’s got the little sky blue ukelele that he’d gotten for Christmas on his lap, and as Harry watches, Ely presses a finger to his mouth and sternly says, “quiet daddy. You can’t sing.”

Harry hears Nick laughing from behind the camera, the loud, rambunctious one, but Ely seems appeased as he goes back to staring intently at the ukelele. Harry can see Ely swallow once, thin brows furrowed and curls falling in front of his face, and then he throws his hand up in the air and strums the ukelele with force. 

“Guitar!” Ely howls on the video, over-pronouncing it so it sounds like ‘gee-tar’. “Music!” 

Real Ely, sitting on Nick’s lap and watching the video starts giggling, overjoyed by his own performance. Nick’s shoulder’s are shaking from his own badly suppressed laughter. Harry covers his mouth with his hand, wide smile taking over his face.

Ely on camera begins strumming faster, and with more gusto. “Music! Daddy and Ely! Santa!” He’s screeching the words, completely tuneless and out of time with his strumming, but Ely both on the camera and on Nick’s lap seem to love it. “Oatmeal for breakfast! Music!”

He pauses for a moment, hand stilling on the strings. He looks to the camera, a questioning look on his face. 

“You stuck, huh?” Camera Nick’s voice comes. “How about, ‘oatmeal for supper’!”

Ely’s expression goes from confused to irritated. “Daddy, that’s silly.” He says, skepticism oozing from his two year old face. He’s good at saying full sentences now, just slurs the words in the middle a bit. “Oatmeal for breakfast. Pancakes for supper.”

Camera Nick and real Nick laugh again. “Oh, of course. How silly of me.”

The video ends when Ely informs Nick on the camera that he’s finished going potty and he’d like to go colour now. Harry’s heart feels all warm and fuzzy, and he leans over Nick’s lap and scoops up the toddler. Ely squeals, hands grabbing at his curls to hold his head in place for Ely to lick a stripe right up Harry’s face, up his nose and in between his eyes. Nick chuckles at Harry’s sour expression. “He’s a puppy today.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, shaking Ely gently, just enough that he loses his grip on his hair. “Are you a puppy dog?”

Ely doesn’t reply with words, just sticks his tongue out and pants heavily. He wiggles around, the signal for Harry to set him down and he collapses onto his hands and knees immediately. He crawls across the room, woofing occasionally. 

“And you wanted to get a dog,” Harry says quieter, to Nick only. 

The older man laughs, again, and pulls himself to his feet. He turns to Harry, stowing his phone into his pocket as he leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek. “You alright? Have a good day? Was it exciting? Meet any male models?”

“Loads,” Harry replies, wiping at his cheek after Nick pulls away. Nick’s always been the type for big, sloppy cheek kisses. Sloppy regular kisses, too, but Harry hasn’t been acquainted with Nick’s regular kisses for over two years. “But I don’t think they’re interested in 20 year olds with kids. And it was good. Mostly everyone ignored me, but it was cool. Really wicked.” 

“Cool,” Nick repeats, and he turns away to watch Ely’s process across the room. “And they’re missing out. Ely’s a catch. You’re alright too, I guess.”

Harry snorts, but doesn’t reply, just follows Nick’s gaze to their son. Harry hadn’t really spent much time thinking about dating anyone for a very long time. He used to, when he used to think that he’d fucked his entire life up, moaning about how no one else would ever love him. When Ely’d actually been born and Harry realized that having a baby wasn’t actually the life-ruining event that he’d thought it’d be, he’d mostly stopped thinking about anyone who wasn’t Ely. Thought that he’d figure dating out when he got there. Then Nick had been reintroduced into his life, and that had complicated things again. Hadn’t it? Even if Harry wasn’t thinking about Nick as a potential love interest, he’d still have to get Nick’s blessing if he ever wanted to like, marry someone else or something. Nick had a right to know who would be raising Ely with Harry. Not that he’d be getting married anytime soon. 

Especially considering his last sexual encounter, an irresponsible yet satisfying tryst with a stranger in a dark alley. The memory of it still made Harry flush a bit, with how stupid it had all been, yet there was something satisfying about the sheer recklessness of it all. He’s lucky that nothing had gone wrong, that he hadn’t caught anything, like a disease or a baby, because that would be his luck. He’d only told Louis about it, and Louis, in a stroke of unexpected Skype thoughtfulness, suggested that it meant that Harry had to be having a think about his love life. That agreeing to let someone fuck him in public was probably indirectly caused by Harry’s philosophy of “figuring it out later”. 

Manchester was making Louis sage. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about it. They were growing up. Nick had laugh lines, and he’d stopped wearing his ironic glasses, and swapped them for genuine reading ones. A real sign of times changing. 

Nick orders a pizza, and the three of them set themselves up in front of Nick’s plasma screen, putting on some Lego Friendship show that Ely loved. Ely only eats pizza if it’s plain, and he’ll only eat the cheesy part, passing the crusts off to Harry or Nick or whoever was closest. 

Ely is absorbed in the show, and Harry’s just a bit zoned out when Nick clears his throat to speak.

“So. Do you think you’re going to be moving out to London, then? For good, I mean?”

Harry finishes chewing his bite of pizza, one of the sweet pieces of pineapple that Nick always insists on being crushed on his tongue. He shrugs. “I mean, I hope so. Soon. Maybe. London is expensive, I need to find like, a good, steady job. Or roommates. Need to find people who are okay with having a two year old flatmate.”

Nick doesn’t say anything in reply, and Harry doesn’t volunteer any more information. He can sense that Nick’s formulating something to say, and Harry doesn’t want to push. So he watches the Lego show, slowly eating his slice of pizza as he waits.

“You--“ Nick starts, but then hesitating, he places his pizza down in the box. “You know you already know people in London? People you can stay with?”

Harry turns to him, a small smile growing on his face. “Oh really?” He asks, imitating Nick and putting the pizza down as well. “Like who?”

“Well, loads.” Nick insists, sounding almost painfully honest even though he’s got his “I’m Just Kidding” face on. “I’m sure Aimee would love to have you, she’d do anything to potentially stave off a proposal. Loves Ian, she does, but she’s not crazy about being all settled down at 25. There’s burlesque clubs she hasn’t danced in, or something like that.”

“Ok, Aimee. Who else?”

Nick blinks. “Both Patrice and Colin are in love with you. So is Gellz, but it’s on the down low. Don’t tell her I told you about her true feelings.”

Harry’s grinning in earnest now. “Really? That’s a lot of people who are in love with me. Who else?”

“Who else is in love with you, or who else would let you stay? Because I think I know someone who is both.”

There’s a pause, where Harry feels a breath freeze in the back of his throat. Ely looks away from the TV, and passes Harry his pizza crust, half covered in slobber. Harry takes it, thankful for the chance to look away for a moment, because Nick is still looking at him with his saucer eyes, no hint of the previous teasing.

“Who, then?” Harry finally asks, after setting Ely’s crust down beside their half-finished pieces. It’s difficult to raise his eyes after then, to make himself look back at Nick.

Nick licks his lips, and his hands are picking nervously at his jeans. “Well, me.”

The three of them are silent, the only sound being the TV talking about the importance of trusting your strengths, or somewhat. Harry, no matter how much he wants to, doesn’t look down, and doesn’t look away. Nick looks startled at his own words, maybe a bit startled at his nerve. But he also doesn’t look like he’s about to take it back, doesn’t look like this is something he’s just decided to say on the spot. 

That’s comforting, Harry thinks. That Nick’s thought it through, and hasn’t just decided to say it for a laugh, or whatever.

“You love me.” Harry says, slowly, measuring Nick’s reaction. He’s being cautious. He has to be, single dad and all.

“Well, yeah.” The older man nods, scratching at the back of his neck, almost bashfully. His lips are still greasy from the pizza, and Harry’s struck again with how normal it all is. It’s not over a candlelit dinner, after eating an expensive four course meal. They’re just on the sofa, Ely resting his head on Harry’s arm as he chews pizza. Harry likes it. 

“Oh.” Harry drops his eyes now, reaching a hand out to push the hair out from in front of Ely’s eyes. Resists the urge to comment on how he needs a haircut, because this isn’t one of those times he can just brush it off. 

Looking slightly panicked by Harry’s singular ‘oh’, Nick bursts into speech. “I mean, you don’t need to say anything at all, if you don’t want. I don’t want to like, pressure you. We can keep doing what we’ve been doing, you coming up and staying for a while, and leaving again after you’ve gotten sick of me. Can keep sleeping on the couch, or whatever. It’s not like, an ultimatum, or anything. Reciprocate or get out. Just figured it’s something I shouldn’t just like, hold onto, yeah? Aimee told me I shouldn’t hold onto it, at least. Just thought you should know. I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Harry waits a minute after Nick’s finished his nervous chattering, wanting to make sure he’s really done speaking. “Okay,” he starts, still looking more at Ely than he is at Nick. “What, what are you offering, then? Sorry to say it like that, but you know.” He takes a breath, then looks up, hoping he looks strong and firm instead of as flighty and liable to collapse into jelly as he feels inside. “I can’t just go into things for the fun of it? Can’t just see how it goes. Don’t want to make Ely deal with a maybe boyfriend that ends up leaving anyways.”

“No, no, I get it.” Nick looks down to look at Ely, eyes wrinkling up a bit in a small smile. “I don’t ever want us to be on nasty terms where we can’t even speak to each other. And I can’t make any promises that I’m like, the love of your life or anything. But I _can_ promise, that I’m going to give it a go. No dicking around. There’s too much at stake. And in terms of what I’m offering... It’s everything, innit? Real estate in Primrose. Sunday mornings with a cup of tea. All that.”

Harry nods. “Okay. Thank you for being honest with me. Can you just, give me a bit of time? It’s a lot to take in.” He’s still nodding. He’s being reasonable, being an adult. It’s exciting, he feels mature and put together. A wonder what a photo shoot at Burberry will do to a person. 

“Yeah, of course.” Nick nods with him, and they’re both just nodding at each other. “No pressure. Take as much time as you want. Feel free to tell me to piss off, as well.”

They smile at each other, then they turn back to look at the TV in unison. Ely’s not got a clue what’s going on, just breathes quietly, watches his TV show, and ignores his dads.

//

Harry and Ely go back to Holmes Chapel that night, getting back a bit later than Harry would have liked. Ely sleeps half the way, having cried for the first twenty minutes after leaving Nick’s. Nick had kissed them both, Ely on the forehead, Harry on the cheek. He’d lingered for a bit at Harry, a hand brushing down his arm, but then Nick pulls away, decisively. Harry appreciates the space, isn’t sure what he’d do if he’d gone in for something more at that specific moment. 

Nick watches them drive off on his front step until they’re out of view. Harry knows, because he watches Nick stand there until he’s out of view. When they turn the corner, Harry briefly feels like joining in with Ely for a bit of a cry, but he’s driving and London traffic doesn’t allow for weepy drivers. 

Anne and Robin are asleep when they finally pull in, and Harry carries his sleeping son inside and gently places him in his bed before even closing the car door. He doesn’t unpack anything, just locks everything up and tosses his bags in the corner of his room and collapses into bed. He’s exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to fall asleep.

The next day is warm and beautiful, and after a large breakfast (of oatmeal), Ely insists on them going outside to smell the flowers.

Anne’s back garden is a wonderful thing, that Anne herself takes a lot of pride in. Meticulously kept rows of colourful flowers, rhododendrons and chrysanthemum, poppies and hydrangeas mixed amongst roses and young lilacs, all tied together to make a dizzying aroma that makes just standing in the cool, shaded backyard an experience. By September, the flowers are giving their last, if they haven’t already wilted, and their decay just makes them smell sweeter. 

Ely toddles through the garden, pushing his face into the flower buds so that he practically looks like he’s devouring them, and sniffs loudly. “Does it smell nice?” Harry would ask, sat cross-legged in the grass in the centre of it all. “Yes!” Ely would reply, shrieking it loud enough that birds would flee from their perches.

Harry sits quietly beyond that, picking up blades of grass and running them down his short-clad legs. He desperately wants to go inside and ask for a bit of advice from his mum, or Robin, or get his phone from its charger and ask Louis or Niall or Liam or Zayn or anyone. He wants to pass off the decision to one of them, maybe take a “Should I Date Nick Y/N” tally, and whichever had the most votes he would go with. But he couldn’t, really, because no one else would have the life experience to make this decision for him.

It would probably be the easiest thing in the world, to just turn Nick down with a “no thank you”. Continue what they’d been doing, because it _worked_. Who were they to mess with a system that wasn’t faulty? Harry could figure it out, could find a way to move to London, be self-made or whatever. He could figure it out.

But a self-made lifestyle had never particularly appealed to Harry. He wanted to have his own life, his own career, but it didn’t really matter to him if he got to his life and career with someone else by his side. And Nick was the father of his child, would be intertwined with his life whether or not they decided to give it a go. 

He wasn’t sure if he was in love with Nick, or not. He knows that there is some warmth, some feelings there that he’s stowed away, but he’s guarded his heart so carefully since Ely was born that he’s not sure if those feelings are leftover affection for the man he lost his virginity to, or if that affection had never really wavered. He knows that he had been in love with him, back when he was 17, but neither of them were the same people as they had been then.

He sits in the garden for a long while, until Ely whines, ready to go back inside. He’s not come to much of a conclusion, but he figures that it’s close enough to one that he can run with it. _Why not?_  

//

It’s not even a day later that Harry is back in the car, on the way to London. He’s left Ely at home, and he’s told Anne about his decision to give it a try with Nick, because it involves all of them. She doesn’t seem too pleased with it, never fully warming up to the man who had knocked up her child, but she doesn’t make any objections. Just tells Harry to be careful, and to make sure that he knows what he’s doing.

Harry broods over that on the long drive. He was being careful! He was being very careful with this, hyperaware of every single thing that could go wrong. But he thinks that they can handle it, if it came to that, could handle being civil towards each other even after they break up. He thinks that they’re both mature enough to look past any potential heartbreak or ill-feelings towards the other to keep the family unit alive. No fighting for custody. Nothing ugly. 

And now that he’s decided to give himself this, he’s... excited. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, nervous about how this is going to happen, how Nick will react, what they’ll do. Harry wonders if they’re going to have sex. Is he going to get laid tonight? He sort of hopes so, sort of hopes that they can take this slow. When they first met, they’d gone from strangers to lovers before they could even really figure out anything about each other. Nick didn’t even know that he was underage before he was whipping his dick out. It’d be sort of cool to take that time they hadn’t then, and have it now. 

No matter, Harry shakes his head. That’s something that they could decide on together. Could discuss it, like proper adults. 

Harry shows up on Nick’s doorstep and there’s noises coming from inside. The symbolism isn’t lost on Harry that the last time he arrived to Nick’s house to a party in swing, he had ended up going home alone and cutting Nick out of his life. But this is London, not Holmes Chapel, and this party is filled with people that he knows and people who like him and want to spend time with him, and this one is an engagement party. There’s a chorus of shouting when Harry walks in, a bit confused because he hadn’t expected to arrive to all of this, but everyone is drunk and glamorous and Harry is very glad that he’d left Ely at home. Nick is at his elbow before he can even take a few steps inside, and he’s a bit sweaty and tipsy and Harry thinks that he looks beautiful. 

“Hiya,” Nick exclaims, drawing the vowel out a second for every drink he’s probably had. “Ian’s proposed! Aimee’s said yes! It’s going to be a long engagement, and Ian’s agreed to go with her to burlesque clubs whenever she’d like! What are you doing here?” Almost as if an afterthought, Nick tacks on. “Not that I don’t want you here.”

Harry almost snickers, almost rolls his eyes, but he lets Nick guide him deeper inside the recesses of the flat that is almost as recognizable as his own home. Aimee’s hanging off of Ian, who Harry’s thought was a bit too geeky to have managed to hold onto someone as exuberant and colourful as Aimee is, but Harry could never question Ian’s adoration of the woman. Ian worked on Nick’s set, something behind the scenes that Harry himself had never paid much attention to, the two times that he’d gone in to visit Nick. It had been busy, and bustling, and Harry knew straight away that it was one of the places that Nick was meant to be. He had no real idea how Nick had fanaggled his way to a show on BBC3, but now that he was there it was strange to imagine Nick being anywhere but in the spotlight. 

Which he was here tonight, too. Regardless of whose engagement party it was for, Nick was undeniably the star of the show, in a matter of speaking. The party was thrown on such short notice-- Aimee was not engaged the last time Harry had spoken to her, an hour before Harry had gone to his photoshoot-- but there were all of these people here. Not just swanky British celebrities, too; Nick was eager to greet and socialize with every single person that he came across, whether they had a song on the iTunes charts or not. Harry’s pretty sure that he recognized the man who cut Nick’s hair (not the one who _styled_ his hair, that was an entirely different person) from the barber shop round the corner from the cafe that Ely threw up in. Harry’s pretty sure the owner of the cafe that Ely had thrown up in was also there, nestled in the corner looking intimidated by Lily Allen. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Harry replies, a bit belatedly. He hadn’t realized that Nick was actually waiting on an answer to his question, and it made Harry want to hit himself on the face a bit. He was already sort of making a fool of himself.

A brief flash of hope shoots across the older man’s face, before he quashes it down with a politely interested smile. “‘Course. Come this way.”

Nick leads Harry further inside, opening the door to Ely’s room and shutting the door behind them. It’s dark and empty, and it’s clear that even though Nick’s thrown a wild celebrity party, he’s got the sense to keep their son’s room off limits. It heats something in Harry, like a shot of whiskey, even though he knows that such an innocuous gesture shouldn’t mean so much to him. 

Nick flicks the light on, and now that they’re alone Harry can tell that Nick is not as drunk as he had initially thought he was. He looks a bit tired, and a bit wary of what Harry is doing there, and whenever Nick is nervous, he talks. 

“Er, right. I wanted to show you something. Jordan found it in South London.” Jordan from Rizzle Kicks, probably, Harry thinks with a wry smile. Nick loves a good gift, loves it even more when he can subtly mention who it’s from. 

It’s just a picture frame, a large and ornate looking picture frame, carved from a light coloured wood that would go perfectly in Ely’s room. It’s very intricate, small details of tree branches weaving around with tiny birds perched on the edges. It’s beautiful, but it’s just a picture frame, and Harry finds himself at a bit of a loss for words at how delicately Nick is holding it in his hands. 

Nick seems to pick up on this, but it doesn’t lessen the warmth in his eyes as he points at the emptiness where the picture should go. “Been looking for a nice frame for ages, really. Wanted something that I could hang beside his crib.” He gestures over to the blank space on the wall. “I’ve printed out that picture your mum took over the summer, of the three of us in the garden for your mate’s birthday. When Ely was wearing his new green shoes? And that butterfly kept divebombing us all, and landed on Ely’s nose? Your mum takes a good photo.”

Harry remembered that day, remembered it well. Ely had been sat in between him and Nick on the bench, watching the butterfly flutter above their heads greedily, exclaiming about how beautiful it was. It was Niall’s birthday, and his mum had thrown a barbecue for what had turned out to be practically the whole neighbourhood. The women from his mum’s yoga class had been fawning over Nick, a bonnafied celebrity in their midst. Harry had a plate with a burger on his lap, and Nick was keeping a hand on Ely’s plate of cake, which was perilously close to tumbling off of the toddler’s lap. 

The butterfly, in a stroke of butterfly kindness, had come down and perched on the tip of Ely’s nose, to Ely’s amazed delight. He had gone completely still, eyes wide open and a bit cross eyed as he gaped at the insect using his nose to roost. Everyone around them, Harry and Nick included, went quiet, watching the scene unfold. Anne, standing across the wicker table from them, snapped a picture from the camera around her neck.

When the butterfly flew off, Ely asked where it was going. Anne had said that he was going to be with his butterfly daddy. Ely asked which one, and everyone laughed. Harry had never seen the picture, and he thought it was nice that Nick had gone out of his way to contact his mum and ask for a copy of the picture. 

More than that, Harry thought Nick was cute for caring at all. This was clearly something that was important to the older man, something that he had put a lot of thought into and he rested a lot of importance in. Nick had decorated Ely’s room without Harry’s input, and Harry had only ever seen the polished end product of the interior design. Nick wanted it beautiful, but it was more than that: he wanted it beautiful _for Ely_. Harry hadn’t seen the significance that he put into each decoration he put up, hadn’t seen the thoughtfulness behind each toy purchased and placed for their child. Harry had always known that Nick cared, always known that Nick loved Ely, but it was hitting him like a freight train as he stood in the only partially lit room, the celebration of Aimee and Ian’s engagement going on in just the next room. It was true that Harry wasn’t going to fuck Nick for being a decent father. But maybe he’d fall in love with him for being a great one. 

Harry bites his lip, but then blurts out, “do you love me?”

Nick, still holding the frame in his hand, peers up at him. His eyes flicker down to Harry’s lips, but then move back up to look him in the eye. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds suddenly rough, suddenly like he’s going to cry or shout or something other than mumble out a confirmation of his adoration, of his love for a man he’s already fucked countless times, already started a family with, already kissed and touched and laughed with and broke the heart of.

Harry takes the frame from his hand, places it gently on the top of the bookshelf that Nick had been keeping it. “Okay,” he says, and he licks his lips, blinks, breathes, then steps in closer, standing closer than he’s stood for a long time. “Okay.” Lifts his hands from where they’re resting at his sides, grips onto Nick’s shoulders, then up to hold his face. Nick’s frozen, mouth slightly agape, just standing there watching with baited breath. Harry pushes his body closer, bumps his hip against Nick’s, hoping Nick gets the idea that he wants him to hold him. Nick seems to, because his still hands are shocked into movement, and his fingers hold tight onto Harry’s waist, thumbs hooking into the loops of Harry’s black jeans. 

Harry closes his eyes, leaning his head in, resting his forehead against Nick’s. He just breathes him in, just waits to see how this feels, because if it doesn’t feel right he’s not going to do it. But there’s nothing earth shattering about, no celestial body that screams at him to stop, nothing that screams at him to keep going except his own muted desire, his own yearning for intimacy with someone who means the world to him, with Nick and with no one else.

He’s just about to move forward, about to go in for it, when he hears Nick suck in a breath. “You don’t have to do this for me,” he says, and Harry opens his eyes. Nick’s looking at him, pupils blown wide, but he’s so still that he seems to be trembling, buzzing with _wantwantwant_ and Harry’s heart swells because Nick’s concern is still only for him and his comfort.

“This isn’t for you.” Harry assures him, and he’s surprised to hear his own voice sound so broken, husky. “This is for me.” And with that, Harry closes the space between their mouths, lips caressing each other with such softness, such tenderness, that Harry nearly forgets where they are. 

Harry kissing him is seemingly all the spurring Nick needs, because he kicks into action and gets into the kiss. One of his hands creep back around Harry, holding onto the small of his back, pulling their bodies even closer together. The other snakes into his hair, fingers interweaving through Harry’s curls, and the feeling of it all makes Harry feel like he’s going into sensory overload. 

The stars don’t align, and the world doesn’t shift. The fabric of time and space remain the same, and nothing outside Ely’s bedroom has changed at all. But it may as well have, because as their lips lock together something clicks into place, something that he had sensed the potential of just about 4 years before.

Harry opened his eyes and pulled away first, and Nick chased after his lips for a moment, before his own eyes fluttered open.

He was wrong before, when he said that there wasn’t much of Nick in Ely. Like this, looking at him with wide eyes, rimmed with lashes and hope, Harry could see the resemblance between the two. It wasn’t so much in the physical characteristics, but more in the state of being, the way he breathed, the way he blinked too much and smiled too easily. A smile that was spreading across the older man’s face right now. 

Nick was the father of his child. Together, the three of them were a family. The three of them belonged together. He wanted, with a slow, reasonable, quiet desperation to integrate himself fully into Nick’s world, and for Ely to have both of them. It just made _sense_. He could justify himself being so into this, so easy for this, because it was the option that made him feel good, and everything else would fall into place.

**Pt. 4 - when things are better**

Harry and Ely move in.

They planned, initially, to take it slow. And they do: slow, crawling minutes turn into hours into days into weeks into months. It was September when they kissed, and they kissed almost every day after that, the trip between London and Holmes Chapel even more an obstacle than Harry had ever noticed it being. 

And Harry had wanted to wait a while, to not jump into having sex and Nick had been so patient, so understanding. But Harry had never been so good with keeping himself from pleasurable experiences, and it’s not even halfway through September before Harry tucks Ely into his crib, and leaps headfirst into Nick’s bed, Nick’s arms. 

(Nick is better than Harry remembers him being. But then, Nick always knew how to touch him and make it feel good.)

Then they’re sleeping together, and they’re in an actual, committed relationship. Harry gets booked again, in the beginning of October, and Harry decides that he and Ely will spend the night like they have dozens of nights before. Harry just doesn’t end up leaving the next day. Or the day after that.

From then on, Harry and Ely live with Nick. Nick is delighted by it all, and it’s overwhelming at first. They had already practically been living together, but now that they actually were, it was different than what he would have expected. He got to wake up every morning with the man he loved at his side, but the man he loved often woke up with morning breath and a desperate need for a cuddle. Harry, as a rule, was nearly always up for a good snuggle, but when he could hear Ely whining down the hall in his room, and Nick was clinging onto his side with surprising strength, Harry could feel his patience wearing thin. 

Nick was fiery, and loud, and occasionally obnoxious, and Harry was with him almost all of the time now. There wasn’t much room for an escape in the flat, he could always hear Nick in the other room, playing with Ely, watching TV, chatting on the phone. Whenever Harry got a headache, he swore that he could throttle the man and feel no remorse. Nick never did dishes straight away. He forgot to do the laundry. He would leave his phone all over the place and then bustle like a tall hurricane through the place on the hunt for it. He liked to have sex, even when the times when he would proposition him (in the middle of a party they’re hosting, in the middle of one of Ely’s impromptu concerts) were incredibly inconvenient. 

And that was just what Harry had found out in those first few weeks, in Nick’s time off between shooting where he’d have short days filled with boring meetings, and he’d come home chatty and eager to irritate. 

But that’s just how it would work in their household: Harry would come home from class (which he started in January) or a shoot to a full house, Ely tearing around everywhere, Nick chatting with Aimee or Alexa or whoever he’s enchanted into spending time with him, and Harry could remember his irritation that morning. He remembers, but he it’s melted away, resolving itself in the way that Nick kisses him lightly as a greeting, in the way that he’ll always have a place in his heart for him. Nick balances him out; brings him up when he’s down, or just holds him, never wanting anything more than Harry can give him at that moment.

And when Harry’s settled down under Nick’s arm, leaning into his body, Aimee or Alexa or whoever Nick has enchanted into spending time with him will roll their eyes and remind them that their family unit is sickeningly sweet. 

Harry will nod, and they’ll both grin. They know.

//

They get a cat. Harry and Ely love it. Nick remains diplomatically aloof. Ely names her Amy, much to Aimee’s amusement. Nick, only slightly spitefully makes sure that it’s spelt differently than her namesake.

//

Harry can sense something is amiss the second he walks through the front door.

Call it his fatherly intuition, but Harry always gets a feel for these things. Whenever a potential disaster is looming, Harry will get this shiver down his spine that means that he needs to brace himself for the pandemonium that so often accompanies potential disasters with Ely. Adding Nick to the mix is already asking for trouble, because Ely could get into enough mischief by himself. Nick always meant well, but that earnest sentiment was always lost when Harry was the one who ended up having to clean up after them.

So when Harry walks through the front door, tosses his keys onto the coffeetable, and feels a shiver run down his spine, Harry knows he’s about to walk into something that he’s going to wish he hadn’t.

He’d had a long day; his world politics class had his head spinning with a mass of swirling cultural information, and it had been immediately followed by the econ class that made him want to curl up in the shower and cry about. He had to read a chapter of Joyce by the end of the night, and he had to buy a deceivingly dull book about samurais. His course load was all over the place, but it was what had happened when he went to sign up for classes. Nick encouraged him to focus more on expanding his knowledge of the world, and not for one specific trade. It was a luxury that his life with a British celebrity provided him: he could take his time and figure his life out. He didn’t need to rush into anything for Ely’s sake. He could come home after a long day, and spend time with his son and boyfriend, both boys a rush of non-stop movement tearing through the house.

That’s what was wrong, Harry thought nervously. It was too quiet, and Harry knew that the two of them had to be home.

He rounds the corner into the sitting room off the long hall, eyes narrowed. No sign of any major damage, just a few scattered toys here and there. But Harry can hear rustling in the next room— the kitchen— and he’s not letting his guard down for a second.

The cat is sitting on the end table, just beside the archway into the kitchen. Harry approaches her, scratches behind her ear. She looks up at him, a thoroughly unimpressed look in her yellow cat eyes. It’s like she’s somehow trying to send him a message, a “tread with caution because our family are terrors” look of annoyance.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. 

Harry didn’t really know what he was expecting, but this was somehow right along the lines of what he could see and not be surprised about. Ely is standing on a chair, halfway crawling across the island. Nick is standing beside him, left hand on their son’s back, as to make sure that he didn’t fall down and hurt himself. The two of them are both covered in what appears to be flour, white powder covering virtually every surface in the kitchen. Worse than that, is that what they’re making with the flour (a gelatinous black liquid in a soup pot) has spilled out, coating Ely and Nick themselves, and everything within five steps of the two men. 

Ely and Nick both look up when Harry rounds the corner. Ely’s curls are matted and his shirt is off. Nick’s wearing Harry’s apron, a slightly rueful look on his face. 

“Daddy!” Ely exclaims, sticking a chubby little hand in the bowl of... what exactly? It seeps through his fingers, but Ely doesn’t seem to pay any mind as he offers it up to Harry. “Spooky cookies! Hawoween!” 

Harry gapes at him. Nick fills in, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “He wanted to make Halloween cookies.”

Harry’s eyes dart to the calendar hanging on the wall next to the fridge. Halloween is a week off, he’s still got to bring Ely to pick out a costume. They’ve got a costume party in a few days to go to, family friendly. 

The kitchen is quiet for a moment, where even Ely seems to understand that he might be in trouble. Harry closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, but then just shakes his head. “It’s a bit early for Halloween cookies, isn’t it?”

Ely grins, and Harry can see a bit of black in between his teeth, as if he’d been eating the black dough. Harry’s still a bit bewildered that they somehow managed to make the dough completely black. “Not too early. Cookies now.”

Harry starts over, careful to not step in any of the dough, which is difficult because the area immediately surrounding Ely and his father is a minefield. He dips a careful finger in, tasting it because if Ely’s eaten some it can’t be _that_ toxic. 

It tastes like raw dough, mostly. “Is there banana in this?”

Nick chokes out a laugh, and Ely’s gone back to stirring the mixture with Harry’s good whisk. “Ely’s got a very refined palette. He’s beyond traditional Halloween cookie recipes.” He reaches an arm out, tugging on Harry’s shoulder to pull him in.

Harry leans into him, getting the dough on himself but not really caring. Nick smells sweet, like cookies and vanilla, and Harry breathes in the scent of him as he rests his head on Nick’s shoulder. They stay like that, Nick still holding onto Ely’s back, and Harry can’t help but think that this is perfect. Ely chats quietly to them, something about seeing seven monsters that day and not being afraid of any of them. 

“I hope you don’t expect me to clean any of this up.” Harry says after a minute, deadpan in a way that’s meant to be teasing, but completely serious.

Nick looks at him, then looks around them, desperation growing behind his eyes. He makes a noise, like he’s about to object, but just as quickly changes his mind. “Of course not, honey bear.”

Harry snorts, then pats Nick on the back. “Well, better get to it. I’m going for a nap.”

//

Harry loves London, he does. Loves the pace, loves the people (even if the people don’t seem to always love him), loves the buildings, loves everything. Yet despite all of that, Harry still finds himself occasionally sick for his house in Holmes Chapel, with his mum and step-dad. But whenever he thinks back to what he misses at home, his thoughts often wander to times before Ely had been born; when the house had always been filled with his friends trampling through the hallways. He remembers being 16, and having the time of his life out with his friends, the ones who meant so much to him for all of those years, and it’s when he’s remembering them that he feels like living in London is something of a betrayal. Like he was supposed to stay in Holmes Chapel forever, and to wait for Liam and Niall and Zayn and Louis and everyone to come back. 

The problem with that is that the entire scenario is one that can no longer exist: even if he did go back to HC, it would be with his son. His boyfriend. He’d be bringing a whole new way of living with him (he had grown comfortable living in Nick’s comfortable lifestyle), and the entire idea just wasn’t feasible.

He did stay updated with every single person that he loved and cared about, though. Anne and Robin were great, had mostly packed up the rooms of their children (and grandchild), and were planning a vacation to Florida now that they had the time and the extra cash. Gemma had her job in Liverpool, one that was apparently very fulfilling, though Harry thought it seemed too technical and boring. Gemma came down to visit all the time, loved seeing Ely and Harry, and she got along with Nick a lot better than Harry’s parents did. 

Louis and Zayn were still in Manchester, apparently. Zayn hadn’t finished his degree yet, and Louis hadn’t even really gone to school yet. He had enrolled, and then immediately gotten involved in a local football team that had almost as much interest in Louis than he had in it. He was still seeing Eleanor, who was doing something that involved placement in a hospital. Zayn had proposed to Perrie, and were to be married sometime next year.

Liam was boring and Niall was in the wind. Liam loved palaeontology, had found a new girlfriend named Suzanne and had gotten a bit round. Niall kept transferring schools and dropping programs; as far as Harry was aware, he was just travelling and having a good time. He kept meeting new, interesting people, and he was the only one of the four of them that could get out to London on a semi-regular basis to visit. Every time he did, he had a new story to tell, and he’d seemingly be enrolled in a different program, in a different city. 

It was nice, really, being able to keep track of all of them. Harry missed them all fiercely, wished he could see all of them all of the time, but he knew that that wasn’t something that could happen at the moment. They were all happy, as far as Harry could tell, despite the fact that they’d mostly drifted apart. Harry makes sure to keep inviting them to every function or party he and Nick host, and they come to most of them. 

Harry realizes once, halfway through a mulberry mule at New Years party Nick and Harry have, that Louis never really apologized for leaving. He sips at the drink, looking across the room at Louis chatting brightly, wagging his hands in the air with every other word. Eleanor is standing nearby, talking to one of Harry’s fashion friends, and Harry thinks about how he never really expected one. Didn’t want one, either. Louis leaving, while temporarily debilitating to Harry and Ely, had been something that had to be done, similarly to how Harry had to leave his own home. 

Nick sneaks up behind him as he’s thinking about it, wrapping his arms around him from behind, kissing him on the neck. Harry smiles, and counts his friends in the crowd. Niall, by the bowl of nachos, Liam near Zayn by their sound system, Louis trying his best to avoid routes that Nick might take. He loves them, misses them more. But, he thinks, as he leans back into the body of Nick, breathing in the security of his embrace, that if he had to chose between his life as a 16 year old with all of his friends, or his current life, he’d chose this one without hesitation. 

He loved them, and he missed them, and he knows that they love and miss him too. But they’re all good this way.

//

It’s when Nick is chastising Ely for throwing his grapes across the room at the cat that Harry really starts to catch on. Listening to Nick sternly tell their son that food isn’t for throwing, and that the cat is higher up on the household hierarchy than the boy that it slides into place. It’s not really a strictly _appropriate_ time for any of said sliding, but Harry keeps a handle on it until he’s alone with his boyfriend, as soon as they get back from dropping Ely off at his school.

“Take your kit off, then,” Nick gestures to him, already unbuttoning the McQueen shirt that Harry had gotten for him months back. Harry’s already sprawled across the bed, scratching idly at his thigh, watching Nick undressing himself. The older man’s got laugh lines and a bit of pudge underneath his naval, accentuated by his choice of tight white pants, the only barrier between the air and his cock. 

Nick looks at him looking at him, raising his eyebrows. “What are you waiting for? Haven’t got all day. Cat’s veterinarian appointment is at 11. Can’t believe you picked out a cat with intestinal problems. Disgusting.”

Harry shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “Sexy. Keep talking about Cat’s gas. Really gets me going.”

“You’re 23,” Nick scoffs, “everything gets you going.”

“Mmmm especially you.” Harry, in a burst of speed, lurches forward and slightly off the bed to drag Nick down with him, resulting in a surprised, “oof” from the older man. Nick had always told him, very matter of fact, that Harry didn’t look like he was meant to move that fast. Like, having long limbs and a lot of torso meant that he could only move at a glacial pace. It made Harry want to move even faster, to dart in close when Nick isn’t looking, kiss him on the neck, tug at his hair, pinch him when he’s not feeling sexy.

Regardless of speed, Nick is tumbling down into the bed with him, grunting softly as they adjust around each other. Harry is still fully clothed, which Nick is two seconds away from complaining about, so Harry beats him to the punch and starts pulling off his shirt. “Can I tell you something?”

“Course.” Nick’s propped himself up on his elbow, and Harry doesn’t miss him surreptitiously checking the bedside clock for the time. Very passionate about not being late for veterinarian appointments, clearly. 

“Well, I was thinking.” Harry’s gotten rid of his shirt, and he’s trying to shuffle out of his jeans while still lying down, which causes what resembles seismic activity on the bed. He eventually gets them to his ankles, and Nick must take pity on him because he pushes them the rest of the way off with his own feet. Harry, filled with gratitude, smiles at his boyfriend, and places a thankful hand on the bulge in Nick’s pants. “Remember how when we first started sleeping together, I kept insisting on calling you that name?”

“Your bizarre daddy kink? I recall.” Nick pushes his hips forward, and Harry grasps at the mostly limp cock. 

“It wasn’t-- it wasn’t bizarre. Loads of people-- that’s not the point.” 

“Okay, it wasn’t bizarre. Loads of people call other people daddy in bed. Our sexual history is mundane, practically boring. Move your thumb up just a bit--- right there.”

Harry takes a minute to catch his thoughts, scattered everywhere by the warm cock in his hand, the eyes on his face, air cold on his mostly naked body. He stops fondling Nick, and tugs down the man’s pants instead, freeing his quickly thickening member. He takes hold of it again, thumb on the head, jerking him slowly so as not to be too painful by the dryness. 

“Anyways. I haven’t really wanted to call you daddy ever since. Which isn’t a good or a bad thing, really, but I think becoming an actual dad just makes that whole idea even weirder, honestly.”

Nick is nodding, pretending as if he’s actually paying attention, but Harry can see his eyes wandering down, over his body. Nick’s always been a horrible multi-tasker, during sex at least. He never shuts up at any other point of the day. Sometimes, the only way that Harry can make him stop chattering is by sticking a hand down his pants.

“But I really think that the, uh, daddy thing, has sort of been replaced by something else.”

At this, Nick’s ears prick up. Of course they would. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Weird as it sounds, it’s sort of arousing when you do like... adult stuff.”

“Adult stuff? Like my taxes? Drink too much wine and then cry in the bathroom?”

“Sort of--“ at Nick’s suddenly gleeful looking expression, Harry backtracks. “I mean, no.”

“You do, don’t you?” Nick has pushed away Harry’s hand, and he’s crawled up so he’s hovering over him. “You think being an adult is sexy. What do you want me to do to you then, huh? Want to watch me respond to business emails? Want to help me fill in a crossword?”

“Nick,” Harry whines, feeling small and petulant. “Stop making fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.” Nick sits back, looking reflective. “Well, maybe a little. I’ll stop now, promise. What do you want me to do?”

Harry narrows his eyes, peering suspiciously up at the man. He seems genuine. He chews on his lips, debating between his curiosity in seeing where this is going to his desire to storm off for not being taken seriously. The side that could lead to sex always wins. “Put on your glasses?”

Nick gives him a look, because he hates his glasses and he hates that he has to use them. Harry sticks out his bottom lip, and withdraws his hand fully, interlocks his fingers together. Nick lets out an all suffering sigh, because his life is truly difficult. He rolls off the bed and stamps across the room, making a show of how unimpressed he is to have been forced out of bed and to retrieve his reading glasses from the dresser across the room. It’s his silly stamping though, the ones that he does with Ely when the two of them decide to be elephants. Harry, despite being fully aware of how ridiculous his boyfriend is being, vows to himself to make it up to Nick for humouring him.

Nick removes his glasses from their case, but doesn’t put them on. Instead, he just carries them back to bed, his whiny, petulant look being replaced with something akin to his own curiosity at the situation. He climbs back into bed, scooting over to be closer to the younger man. “Okay, I’ve got them. Now what?”

“Put them on,” Harry replies, and he’s surprised to hear his voice sounding low, already turned on even though nothing has even been done, really. 

Nick obliges, sliding them onto his face with a flourish, carefully regarding Harry, studying him. “Hows this? Do anything for your Responsible Father kink?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, and he wouldn’t know how to describe this if he tried. It was a warmth, a ghost hand that caressed his balls, but also his heart. He was helplessly attracted to him in every single aspect of Nick’s being; satisfied in the knowledge that Nick could please him sexually, protect him, provide for him, be good to him, be right for him, and be a good parent to their son. There was something about the glasses that tied it all together for him, because he was happy before, when Nick was still associated in his mind as the guy he hooked up with a few years back, but there was a symbolism in the glasses that made him come all the way around to _father of their child, lover, boyfriend, soulmate_. 

Harry released a breath, reached out to cup Nick’s face. Nick leans into the touch, a practiced gesture that they had repeated over and over again over the past few years of living together. “I don’t think it’s a father kink,” Harry says softly. “I think it’s just that I love you.”

Nick’s face breaks out into a smile, handsome and boyish and Harry loves him. He moves into kiss the younger man, lips pink and eager. “I can live with that. For the rest of my life, probably.”

 


End file.
